


did I say it out loud (I wanna have your baby)

by banshee_in_the_dark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Baby making, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Smut, and she's super passionate and determined, bellamy's so down for it, clarke really wants a baby, more of a slow realization that we are both huge dorks that love each other, not a slow burn, while banging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke decides she's ready to have a baby so she asks Bellamy to supply the necessary help. They aren't together. He still says yes.</p><p>--</p><p>
  <b>Winner of Best Family Fiction in the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! *waves* So I've been working on this fic for the past five months or so. It was my go to happy place when canon kept breaking my heart into a million pieces and now during the hiatus. It's meant to be a light, fun, albeit smutty at times, read to tone down the general angst and despair bellarke brings upon us. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> As always, my thanks go to Amanda whose excellent and impecable editting is a form of art in and of itself.

“I want a baby.”

Bellamy raises his head slowly from where he was studying the blueprints of the new watch posts the Council planned to commission, convinced his hearing was failing him. “What?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Clarke says, standing up from her seat and walking to the window to gaze at the downcast sky, the soft, cool breeze teasing her loose hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I want to have a baby.”

“Okay.” Bellamy reclines on his chair, the legs groaning in protest. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Is this one of those ‘everyone has one so I want one too’ things?”

She fixes him with a scathing look. “You know me better than that.”

Yeah, okay. Point taken.

“I just – everyone has moved on and started a family, all our friends, and I see those kids, play with them, hell I delivered some of them,” she lets out a short laugh, her eyes finding his easily. “I feel something inside me ache like I’m missing out on the most wonderful experience life has to offer. I’m ready. I want a baby, I want to be a mom,” Clarke says with conviction, her eyes shining like brilliant gems, before adding quickly. “And I want you to be the father.”

Bellamy blinks at her, speechless. “Me?”

“Who else am I going to ask?” she snorts, like it’s totally normal for friends to have a baby together.

“Well there’s – um…”

Bellamy frowns, his hand wildly flailing before him as if he might produce a boyfriend for Clarke out of thin air. Yeah, whatever, they’re both single and too fucking busy to mingle.

He remembers when he brought her back home all those years ago. She’d asked him to let her go after what happened at Mount Weather and he’d let her, even though he selfishly wished she’d stay with him and shoulder the burden of what they’d done together. He could see the ghosts in Clarke’s eyes and knew she needed to find a way to come to terms and forgive herself.  If she thought time away from them would help her, then he would support her even if her absence weighted heavily on his soul.

Bellamy let her go, knowing instinctively she would one day return of her own volition. They would meet again, they had to. But winter came and went, and still no sight of her. By then they’d moved their main settlement from Camp Jaha to Mount Weather, reasoning that as ill prepared as they were to brave winter out in the open, taking residence in the military base and utilizing the resources it boasted was the only logical choice to keep their people alive. It was distasteful, and everyone who’d spent some time as captive in Mount Weather was less than eager to make it their home, but survival came first.

Another worrying matter had weighed on their decision. Grounders had been sighted slowly edging into the territory, thinking that with the Mountain Men gone, Mount Weather and all its adjacent land, rich in natural resources, were up for grabs. Abby and Marcus had agreed with Bellamy then. They’d paid too high a prize, had been betrayed by the alliance and had their hand forced in the obliteration of the Mountain Men, to let the grounders gain on them. The land was theirs now and it was high time Lexa and all the other grounder clans realized the Sky People were not to be fucked with. It only took Wick and Sinclar a couple of days to rebuild the acid fog generators and reconfigure the system Bellamy had blown up. At Octavia’s urging however, they gave the grounders ample warning that the acid fog was once again operational, sounding the horns several times before it was activated. The radars had shown that the grounders who’d crossed the imaginary border didn’t initially heed their warning, but retreated once the fog was released. There were no casualties that day but they’d accomplished their goal: the grounders never again dared cross the perimeter – now outlined by outposts and permanently guarded – without gaining their express permission first.

Bellamy knew Clarke wouldn’t willingly come inside the base when she returned so he built a cabin in the outskirts of the mountain once the weather started to turn in their favor and the harshness of winter began to morph into spring. As the tree branches lost their brittleness and became malleable, fattened with fragile buds and green leaves, he finished the project: a simple one room cabin, rustic but nonetheless sturdy, located within shouting distance of the heavy metal entrance but behind the privacy of a cluster of trees. And still no sight of Clarke.

Many volunteered to go with him when he decided it was time to find Clarke and bring her home, most notably Abby, but Bellamy refused them. It was something he needed to do alone. He craved the solitude of the woods, the single-minded purpose of the chase running through his veins. He understood why Clarke would want to leave everything behind. With only himself for company he was forced to face ghosts he knowingly buried in the deepest crevices of his memory.

The time apart wasn’t so kind on Clarke though. When he finally found her after almost a month of looking, she was half-starved and with a raging fever that would’ve taken her life had he not rushed her back to Mount Weather. He seethed the whole trek back, the knowledge that she’d foolishly endangered her life because she didn’t value it anymore adding speed to his stomping legs. A small cut on her calf was the cause of her fever. No stitches would’ve been needed had she treated it right away, yet Clarke had knowingly left it untreated, unconcerned with the possibility of infection. She was delirious when they finally made it back. Abby had to carve out a sizeable bit of infected flesh off her calf. 

With proper nourishment and medicine, Clarke was back to her healthy self within weeks, and let her displeasure of being back at Mount Weather be known. She wanted to leave again once she was back on her feet, no doubt to carelessly risk her life once again at the first opportunity she saw. But Bellamy didn’t cave that time. Distance hadn’t helped her, far from it. It was time to let her friends and family help her heal.

It wasn’t easy. Clarke was less than cooperative, and the constant reminder of what they had done to the Mountain Men made the process difficult. The cabin had become her sanctuary since she had exiled herself there, adamantly refusing to set foot on the base ever again. Bellamy understood intimately. He was still unable to walk those hallways without flashing back to the week he spent hiding there. Maya lingered in every corner and he’d long ago resigned himself to eating his meals everywhere but the main hall, as the memory of all those people dead over their dinner still turned his stomach.

But he helped Clarke cope, talking about the improvements they’d made to the security to keep their people safe, showing her their sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. He took her to the cemetery when she asked him to and they visited each individual grave. Maya’s and the ones of the people who’d helped their friends hide always had flowers. They had also erected a wall with the names of every lost Arker carved on it, a place for friends and family to grieve their lost ones.

People gradually spilled out of the base, building new homes. Suddenly Clarke’s cabin wasn’t the only one out there, and the affluence of neighbors slowly forced her to interact with people. She volunteered to help her mother at the clinic, and eventually finished her apprenticeship and forged a stronger bond with Abby. She became reacquainted with her friends, particularly with Raven, Octavia, Monty and Jasper, their understanding and easy acceptance of her shortcomings encouraging her to come out of her self-imposed exile. And through it all Bellamy stood by her, offering steady comfort and friendship.

She was eventually offered to join her mother, Marcus and Bellamy on the Council, but Clarke turned it down. She didn’t want to decide who lived and died anymore. She was still a steady fixture in the community and it was known that Bellamy didn’t make a vote without hearing her opinion on the matter at hand first.

Their responsibilities had grown with the camp. Now they have over a thousand people depending on the Council to keep them safe, and on Clarke and the medical team to keep them healthy; the original delinquents who survived Mount Weather, the ones who came down with the Ark and even a few grounders deserters of the Trigeda, plus new arrivals as people started to pair off and have kids, free of the Ark’s restrictive birth control policies.

But just because everybody is doing it doesn’t mean having a baby is a good idea, especially because they aren’t even together.

He looks at her now, the hope pooling in her gaze. The melancholy that had taken residence in her blue eyes is gone. They’d been dull and lifeless when he found her, then cold and shifting when she was first back home. Slowly the ghosts receded and the dullness ebbed until they were Clarke’s eyes again, an electric azure he came to treasure, bold and challenging, bright with intelligence and finding beauty wherever her gaze landed.

The shadows are gone from her eyes, but the wisdom gained shines through. There was a time when Bellamy didn’t think he would ever gaze upon her like this, excited and content.

They’re best friends, close in a way that comes from years of working side by side. Theirs is a friendship that has known hardships, that has seen each of them at their lowest point with the other unfailingly at their side. The trust they placed in one another all those years back when it was decided that for the time being, they would make the rules, wasn’t misplaced. It’s been cared for and nurtured over the years and has intensified to the point that it is an integral part of their relationship now.

But as close as they are, they aren’t a couple. Couples make babies, not friends.

“This is a big deal Clarke,” he says slowly. The storm gathers outside and rain begins to splatter over the roof with a rapid tattoo. “This isn’t me getting drunk and asking you to suck my dick – ”

“That was one time,” Clarke cuts in, then mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _and you loved it_ ’. Bellamy doesn’t argue the point. He did, in fact, love it. He particularly enjoyed the part where he convinced her to let him return the favor right after.  Blessedly, he remembers every bit of that night, despite the fact that he was impressively drunk at the time. People have been speculating about them being intimate for years, and they have seen each other naked, but that was the only instance he and Clarke recognized the undercurrent of sexual tension between them and done something about it. The fact that they were both inebriated made it easy the morning after when they unanimously decided to continue as friends.

“ – or getting matching tattoos because the Lake Clan thinks we’re married and that’s the only reason they trade with us,” Bellamy continues with a shake of his head, clearing the fog of lust that comes with those memories from his mind.

Clarke bites the inside of her cheek, fingers unconsciously tracing the contours of the thirteen point shooting star on the inside of her forearm she herself designed for them when the leader of the Lake clan, the only grounders they have a trade agreement with, made it clear no ink meant he wouldn’t trade salt with them. Bellamy pretends not to follow the movement with his eyes, and balls his fists on his knees to keep from copying the movement.  The sight of the dark mark stark against her fair skin never fails to make his heart beat a little bit faster, and his own tattoo burns for her touch.

“I know what I’m asking is crazy, Bellamy, but you’re the only person I trust to do this with. But if you don’t want to – ”

“I didn’t say that,” Bellamy sighs. He thinks about his niece Rory, about how much he loves her and loves having her around. She’s three now and hell on wheels, but when she was a baby she was cute and cuddly, and Bellamy was the only one who could calm her when she was really upset.

Despite his misgivings, Bellamy begins to imagine what it would be like having a baby with Clarke. Obviously, he’d enjoy the process of making it a hell of a lot, and that in and of itself is a huge point in favor of agreeing with Clarke’s idea. But then he imagines her growing heavy with his child, and cradling the little person they made, smiling at him over their baby’s small, delicate head. His heart clenches in his chest at the vivid picture in his head.

Clarke continues talking, oblivious of Bellamy’s internal musings. “And of course, if you don’t want to be involved in his or her life I’d never force you – ” the brief glare he shoots her is more an answer than he could ever articulate. “Yeah, yeah, I know you better than that,” she concedes with a small, intimate smile. “If we do this, this will be your baby as much as mine.”

The hopefulness in Clarke’s voice plucks straight at his heartstrings and his resolve dissipates. It’s embarrassing how easily he caves, but whatever. This is _Clarke_. Like there was ever really any doubt he wouldn’t give her anything she asked for.

“We’re in a good place right now,” Bellamy offers tentatively. “Obviously we make a good team, and we haven’t gotten into any trouble with the grounders since we reinforced the perimeter. Harvest was good this year,” he adds as an afterthought.

“ _Really_ good,” Clarke agrees. “Which reminds me, I’m making a vegetable casserole for diner.”

Bellamy’s mouth waters. What Clarke initially lacked in the culinary department she more than compensated with enthusiasm and a desire to experiment and learn. Her cooking has vastly improved over the years and Bellamy prefers it to the fare they serve at the main hall which is partly why he eats dinner at her cabin more often than not – actually he spends the night quite often too, and most of his possessions are kept here even though he has his own quarters within the base. He’s thought about building his own cabin, but there’s always something to do to improve Clarke’s home. Over the years he’s laid a rock foundation and elevated the structure two feet above ground, redone the roof with new wood slats and the clay tiles they started making, added on a bedroom, an earth oven with a chimney to provide additional warmth, and finally a latrine. The once rustic cabin is now spacious and comfortable.

Bellamy immediately begins making plans to build a second bedroom, mentally revising the layout of the cabin to figure out where it would be best located and making a list of the necessary materials. “We’re really gonna do this,” he mutters to himself.

Clarke doesn’t miss a word.

“Yes. And the timing is actually perfect,” she says, crossing over to her desk as she speaks and bringing back her calendar. “Winter is almost here, so if I get pregnant next month my due date will be around summer’s end and I’ll be breastfeeding the baby all through winter, and you know how babies that are still breastfeeding have stronger immune systems.”

“What if you don’t get pregnant next month?”

It wasn’t unheard of. They’d proven to be a fertile lot, and every girl who’d had her implant removed had shortly gotten knocked up. Raven was the most memorable case of course, seeing as she was the first one to get pregnant on the ground. Her implant was apparently damaged when Murphy shot her all those years ago so when her waistline started expanding it was clear to everyone that her vigorous escapades with Wick had proven most fruitful. 

Clarke shrugs. “Then it’ll happen the month after that and I’ll give birth later. No big deal.” Worst case scenario, they’ll have to have sex again and again until she conceives. It doesn’t sound like such a hardship from where he’s standing to be honest.

“Okay. So we’re doing this. We’re having a baby.”

The air leaves Clarke’s lungs with a relieved little laugh. “We are.”

“And it’s not weird at all.”

“No reason to be.”

“So how does this work?” Bellamy asks, genuinely enthusiastic. He practically raised Octavia when he was a child, so having a baby with Clarke should be no hardship. If he or she takes after them they’ll probably be smart, reasonable and cry very little. Also he gets to have sex with Clarke numerous times, god willing, which is definitely a plus. “Do we just fuck every chance we get or do we wait till the right time?”

“I think that will be more effective yes,” Clarke nods.

Her hands fly to her pants and begin to undo them. Bellamy feels a brief, illogical stirring of panic. They’ve never actually had sex but he’s seen Clarke naked before, had his dick balls deep in her mouth and subsequently made her come around his tongue that one glorious time. He even regularly jerks off thinking about her – it’s okay, it’s not creepy. She knows about it and she doesn’t mind. She even admitted to getting off to thoughts of him, occasionally, which yeah, of course she does. He has a nice dick, she’s not blind and she has practically a photographic memory. Anyway, the _idea_ of sleeping with Clarke is pretty fucking sweet but he’s suddenly not ready to have sex with her like, right this second.

(He got side-blinded by the request of a baby, give him a fucking break.)

Like, they’re doing this. A baby. He’s gonna fuck his platonic life-partner and actively try to knock her up.

Holy. Fuck.

But then before the panic attack hits him in full swing and irrevocably damages his reputation as a Bad Ass – capitalization fucking earned – Clarke turns around to face the dining table, lowers her pants a bit, raises the hem of her shirt, and he understands.

He finds his trusty knife, the one he made ages ago from scrap metal and that he’s kept for sentimentality’s sake, and advances on her. He touches the small of her back, the spot on her hipbone about an inch above the rise of her butt and presses lightly with his fingers, feeling for a small lump. His throat clogs with emotion and his heart begins to beat a rapid tattoo against his ribcage.

This is the closest thing to a wedding ceremony they have. The removing of the birth control implant is a show of commitment between couples. They also have a ceremony before a tree, a pledge of sorts, and couples usually exchange rings or bracelets or whatever the hell they can get their hands on. Some even have taken the grounder custom of getting matching tattoos to show their bond to the world. But when they get the implant removed, that’s when shit gets real. And while ideally it should be performed by someone with medical training, it’s become an intimate act for the couple.

When he finds the implant, he sneaks a glance at Clarke. There isn’t a trace of fear on her face and she nods, encouraging him. He sinks the blade half an inch into her skin, crimson drops trailing from the incision. With the knife and his fingers Bellamy extracts the minuscule implant and presents it to Clarke, his fingers sticky with her blood.

She uncorks the ornate flask of hard liquor Marcus gave him as a birthday gift their second year on the ground, which he saves for special occasions, and passes it to him. Bellamy takes a swig of it, the alcohol burning smoothly down his throat and partially dissolving the knot there, before bathing the small incision with it and passing it back to Clarke, who tips it to him before drinking.  She replaces it in its designated spot on her table.

“My period should come next week. After that I’ll be fertile, so I’ll let you know when it’s the right time.” Clarke turns to face him, smiling broadly. “Thank you Bellamy.”

She wraps her arms tightly around his waist. Part of the reason everyone is convinced they’re actually together is because of how tactile they are. Contact has never not been natural and organic between them.

He barely has time to react and hug her back before she’s pushing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek dangerously close to the corner of his mouth and breezing past him to the hearth to begin dinner preparations, humming happily, and leaving Bellamy only mildly freaking out about his impending fatherhood.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What did you guys think? Please leave a comment! A big part of this fic is already written but I'm open to suggestions :)


	2. The Deed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy SHIT you guys!!!! I cannot believe how well you responded to the first chapter, I am literally blown away! I mean, I didn't think you would hate it (if I didn't I wouldn't have posted it in the first place), but I honestly thought you would think the idea was a little silly. Your comments were so positive and enthusiastic I wanted to post a new chapter every day, but I promised myself I would stick to a weekly schedule. I'm trying to try something called 'discipline' and 'self-control' lol
> 
> As always, Amanda, my love, my friend, thank you for being the best beta I could ask for. You guys can follow her tumblr (amacancion) and here on OT3 (farfallama). I am bellohmyblake on tumblr and you can hit me up if you ever want to talk :)
> 
> This chapter earns the 'Explicit' rating of this fic, so enjoy.

Clarke paces slowly, the fur carpet tickling the soles of her bare feet. She fingers a lock of her hair, noticing the split ends. She’s let it grow too long, now reaching her waist. It’s impractical and a nuisance to keep clean, the curls as messy and unruly as always, but she likes it. It’s a piece of femininity she can afford to keep. She doesn’t have much vanity in her, never did, but she’s allowed some, isn’t she?

She had wrapped up her work a couple of hours after noon, knowing her mother could easily handle any medical emergency without her assistance. She slaved over the hearth to warm enough water for a long soak in the wooden tub she painstakingly dragged from the shed to the cabin. She washed her hair with scented soap and almond oil. She mixed oatmeal with milk and honey and rubbed the paste on her skin to exfoliate. The faint tan she gained over the summer has all but disappeared, so her complexion is as creamy as ever save for a few stubborn freckles dusted over her shoulders and the bridge of her nose.

The warm bath soothed her and relaxed her muscles. When her skin wrinkled from being in the tub too long, she slipped out and sat before the crackling fire and brushed her hair dry.

She could barely contain her nerves all day, so the long bathing ritual helped. Ever since she came to Bellamy with her request and he accepted, she’s been bubbling with excitement, counting the days until finally the time came for them to try to make a baby. They haven’t talked about _it_ since that rainy afternoon two weeks ago but it’s been there in the back of their minds, informing every interaction between them.

Most people would call her crazy for what she’s about to do – in fact, Raven had a few choice words to say when Clarke told her she’d finally gathered the courage to ask Bellamy for what she’s been longing for, most of them a variation of _‘you’re fucking insane’_ and _‘you’re setting yourself up to get hurt’_ – but for her it’s simple.

She loves Bellamy. He’s her best friend, the only person in the whole wide world that knows her inside out. He’s been by her side every step of the way, even in the beginning when they couldn’t help but antagonize each other. He was her strength when she was at her lowest and her joy in the happy times. She would’ve let herself die in the woods years ago when she left. The knowledge shames her, but she knows it true. She didn’t care about her life anymore, felt tainted and soiled after the multitude of lives she’d taken. She didn’t feel worthy of living. That’s why she’d left, really. Not because the time alone would help her find herself and come to terms with her actions, but because she believed the solitude would give her the courage to finally stop fighting and release herself from this dreadful world.

Bellamy knows how close she was to slipping away when he found her. He berated her the whole way back to Mount Weather, and then stayed by her side during her recovery, offering all the positive and caring encouragement of a drill sergeant. But in the end his gruff determination that he would not lose her became Clarke’s, feeding the small flickering flame of her will to live until it became an inferno. She wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him.

With him she learned the difference between loving someone and being _in love_. She’s both when it comes to Bellamy, the change so gradual that Clarke didn’t realize she had completely lost her heart to Bellamy Blake until it was too late. She doesn’t have any illusions that he feels the same way about her – if he did he would’ve made a move years ago, god knows she’s given him plenty hints about her true feelings, including but not limited to their one glorious night together, after which he unceremoniously decided to pretend it ever happened. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t followed his lead and pressed him to talk about what had happened between them and what it meant for their relationship. But she was a coward and couldn’t handle the rejection.

Clarke doesn’t doubt he cares deeply about her. If nothing else, she knows this in her heart. Bellamy even confessed to her she’s the one person he trusts completely, without reservations, and then promptly made her swear she would never repeat his words to Octavia.

Their friends caught early on the nature of Clarke’s feelings for Bellamy, but other than a little harmless teasing here and there, they have never pressed them to define their relationship. Even if they tried, Clarke is sure they wouldn’t be in agreement. Bellamy thinks of her only as a friend, while Clarke wants much, much more.

He’s _it_ for her. The idea of having a baby, his baby, while absolutely _terrifying_ , fills her with such joy and a sense of rightness it’s hard to explain, as if her heart were expanding to an impossible size, creating room for all the love she knows herself capable of. Clarke respects that Bellamy doesn’t feel the same way about her and came to terms with that a long time ago. He doesn’t owe her anything. He loves her the way he can, and she’ll have him any way he offers.

It might be selfish, asking him to have a baby with her out of the blue, but she’s certainly not forcing him and would’ve dropped the subject if he had said no, honestly. But if she wants a family, any kind of family, she wants it with him and no one else. And maybe a small part of her brain can’t help but wish that Bellamy’s lack of interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with someone else means in a subconscious level he wants that with her, too.

The steps outside the front door creak, whining under the weight of an arrival. Clarke’s heart stutters in her chest.

“Hey,” she says when he crosses the threshold, gently kicking the door closed behind him. “How was your swim?”

Bellamy smirks, runs a hand through his wet hair. “Cold.”

She’d feel guilty about hogging the cabin and the tub if he didn’t make a habit of swimming laps every night before bed until the lake inevitably ices over. He maintains that it’s good exercise and gives him a chance to be alone with his thoughts for a while, and while his shoulders have widened considerably since he started a couple of years ago, which she is _very_ appreciative of, Clarke always worries he’ll catch pneumonia.

“There’s some leftover rabbit stew if you’re hungry,” Clarke offers. She had been too nervous to eat anything today but she forced herself to heat up a small bowl and swallow it at lunch.

He shakes his head and shrugs off his jacket. “I’m good, thanks.”

Clarke sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and awkwardly shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

She can’t remember the last time she was so nervous to be alone with Bellamy.

He gives her a sheepish smile. “So. Today’s the day.”

She doesn’t trust her voice to work properly so Clarke just nods, feeling a blush crawling up her neck.

Noticing her unease, Bellamy crosses the distance between them and grabs her hand. His eyes bore into hers, soulfully, and she’s reminded of the first time their hands touched all those years ago that it didn’t involve her swinging over a deathbed of spikes. His words resonate within her to this day. _“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things.”_ How far they’ve come from the days when they had to sacrifice parts of themselves, little pieces of their souls chipped away to make room for the ever present need to survive. They’re here today, all that’s left of them, happy and healthy, safe and at peace and with their whole lives ahead of them, because they made the hard choices back then.

“If you changed your mind…”

“No,” Clarke cuts in, squeezing his hand. “Just a little nervous, that’s all. I want this.”

And she does. She’s never had time to want for much, or for anything that wasn’t directly associated with surviving and keeping their people safe. This she wants for herself.

Bellamy cups her cheek and her heart stutters in her chest. “Okay. We’ll take it slow.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Slow.”

Still holding his hand Clarke crosses the living area to the bedroom in the back. It’s spacious and comfortable. Pushed against a corner, the bed takes up most of the space with a small table beside. On the opposite wall, there’s a small window covered with a fur to keep the chill out and a low bookshelf under it. The books lined neatly in the shelves are an odd collection of fiction and historical books alike, all of them rescued from bomb shelters and treated lovingly. There weren’t many printed books on the Ark – all their reading material was in digital format for practical purposes- and the precious few were encased in transparent acrylic boxes that protected them from decay. You could look at them, but not read them and certainly not take them to your quarters with you to read at leisure.

She remembers the first time she saw him with a book in his hands, almost reverently turning the pages. Most of these books are his but he’s never been interested in moving them to his quarters.

Bellamy’s presence at her back makes her jump a little bit. She looks back over her shoulder and bites her lip, the raw need evident in his unguarded features knocking the breath from her.

“Slow,” he reminds her.

Clarke nods, fingers trembling as she tugs at the belt holding her simple robe closed. The sides fall open revealing her form, naked except for her panties. She has only a moment to freak out – it’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked before, _Christ_ – before Bellamy’s big hands fall over the tops of her shoulders, the warmth sending a shiver down her spine. His calloused fingers dig into her flesh just slightly, and then he’s caressing her arms in a long downward stroke, gathering the fabric of her robe as he goes and taking it off completely.

She inhales sharply when his hands settle back over her exposed shoulders, then feels all the air come out of her lungs at once when his thumbs press confidently and massage the back of her neck. Another exhale, closer to a moan, follows the movement of his fingers over her back. He rubs her neck, her shoulders and down her spine in a sensual caress. Her hair is in the way, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind, combing the fingers of one hand through the long locks and stroking her side with the other.

His fingertips brush the undersides of her breasts faintly when he strokes the curve of her waist. She relaxes gradually, until her back rests comfortably against his chest, and when she finally opens her eyes (when exactly did she close them?) and peers back at him, his steady, blazing gaze nearly makes her heart stop.

Bellamy teases her breasts with soft petting motions, the strokes easy and gentle, not twisting or pinching her nipples too hard. It drives Clarke wild. For some reason that escapes her, she tries to keep it in, bites the inside of her cheek, swallows her moans and does her best to remain perfectly still under his touch, as if she were in a dream; a particularly good one where she feels loved and wanted, but if she moved or reciprocated at all she’d wake up, grasping at the edges of the fantasy.

Only this isn’t a dream. Bellamy is flesh and bone, and he is touching her. The heat of his hands is not a product of her imagination, and Clarke is quite sure even her active imagination couldn’t conjure up the maddening combination of bliss and torture of being so close to him, yet not close enough.

He’s waiting. Waiting for her hips to rock, for her chest to arch into his hands, for her lips to release all the sweet sounds of her passion. When she finally gives in, he’s there, his mouth hot and wet on the side of her neck as his hand travels lower, across her stomach and over the curve of her hip.  They disappear in the juncture of her thighs and slowly spread them open to touch her through her thin panties. Clarke rubs her backside against him, the coarse feeling of his pants against her skin reminding her that he’s still fully clothed while she’s practically naked in his arms. She moans, feeling a rush of heat dampening the area between her legs.

“Bed,” Clarke groans, head falling back against the cushion of his broad shoulder as he gently nibbles on the underside of her jaw.

She half expects him to come up with a smart ass retort, something along the lines of ‘I thought we were going slow princess’, sardonic and charming at the same time, making her burn and ache even more at the prospect of waiting a second longer to have him. But his need must equal hers, because with the exception of a muffled groan, he remains silent as he leads her to the bed and, with his eyes never leaving hers, Bellamy begins to undress.

Clarke lets her eyes wander over him, inventorying the many scars he’s collected over the years. She knows every single one of them. Five stitches on the left side of his ribcage where his lung collapsed after a tree branch fell over him. A cross-shaped bullet wound that missed shattering his right clavicle by half an inch. A long jagged line on the outside of his right upper arm he branded shut himself on a moonless night while on the run from the Ice Nation after they speared him. A neat, slightly raised, still pink line on his right lower abdomen from the emergency appendectomy her mother performed on him a few months earlier. All that, plus a collection of countless scrapes and inconsequential lines that evidence he’s been fighting tooth and nail to stay alive.

His muscles ripple with movement as he tears his clothes off. Unlike her, his summer tan clings to his skin, which is not a surprise. The lack of tan lines speaks of how often he works outdoors with his shirt off.

Bellamy hesitates for a moment under her eyes, ducking his head. Clarke takes the opportunity to slip off her panties and dive beneath the bedcovers pulling them up to her chin, inexplicably embarrassed. She diverts her gaze while he takes off his boxers. When he finally joins her on the bed, it seems the frenzied need for each other has dissipated. There’s a good foot of space between them and the atmosphere beneath the covers is downright chilly. Clarke frowns at the ceiling, sneaking a glance at Bellamy’s similarly aggravated stony expression. Long moments drag, feeling like hours, when in reality not more than a few minutes could’ve passed. The chirping fire on the hearth is the only source of sound in the room.

This is not at all going the way she imagined.

Bellamy makes a sound of heartfelt agreement. Clarke panics, realizing she spoke her thoughts out loud.

She steals a look at him at the same moment he does. Their eyes lock. Clarke’s white-knuckled grip on her covers intensifies. The panic swimming in Bellamy’s akin to that of a sacrificial virgin.

The ridiculousness of the situation hits them both at the same time. She’s not sure who laughs first, but the look of absolute dread wipes off his face in the span of a moment, and before she knows it they’re both shaking with laughter. Clarke has to hold her side to ease the cramp there from laughing so hard, dropping her grip on the covers without realizing.

The laughter dies to soft chuckling, but the smiles seem permanently fixed on their faces. At some point they met half-way and are now pressed together in the middle of the bed, Clarke on her back, wiping away tears of laughter, and Bellamy on his side, propping his weight on his elbow. He gently combs back a lock of hair from her face, reverently rubbing the soft tresses between his fingers.

“Bellamy?”

“Yes?”

“Please kiss me.”

He doesn’t make her wait long. Bellamy cups her face with his hand and kisses her, stealing her breath and wits with the barest contact of their lips. Clarke’s lips part immediately, but he makes no move to delve inside. Instead, he ghosts his lips across her trembling mouth, as if gauging the best way their lips fit together. He kisses the corners of her smile, outlining the shape of her upper lip and lower swell. Her breath stutters when he finally slides his tongue into her mouth. Bellamy strokes and licks and tastes without hurry, savoring the moment. As if kissing her is the end-all, not just the means to the end.

His hand leaves her jaw trailing a feathery path south. He caresses the swell of her breasts, mapping the shape of them with his calloused fingers. He lingers on the spots that make her breath hitch, gently abrading her skin with his work-roughened hands. Clarke clings to his neck, pulling him down closer. When Bellamy finally touches her nipples, she tears her mouth away from his searing kiss and lets out a loud moan. He kisses down her jaw and throat, her harsh panting encouraging him. He twists and plucks her nipples, paying careful attention to every sound she makes.

At last, when she’s sure an eternity has passed and she’s on the brink of begging him, Bellamy moves his hand down her middle, letting out a primal growl when he encounters liquid heat between her legs. His lips form words against her skin but Clarke’s heart beats so loud, she can’t hear a word he says.

Her pussy is slick with arousal, hot with need, and Bellamy explores every ridge, every fold, every crevice. Her thighs clamp down on his hand, trapping his fingers against her sex in a wordless plea for more.

His greedy fingers roam, stroking a slow path back and forth, circling her clit for a second before moving away. He teases her relentlessly until his fingers are dripping with her arousal and she is left gasping against his neck.

Bellamy pushes himself up, his lustful eyes fixed on Clarke. She spreads her legs wide and inviting. He kneels between her legs and leans over her, bracing his weight on his arms. She reaches out to him, welcoming him as he settles on top of her. Her small hand wraps around his cock, taking the time to acquaint herself with the feel of his considerable size in her palm before guiding him into her.

“Just go slowly,” Clarke warns him, her eyes fluttering shut as Bellamy begins to enter her. “It’s been a while.”

The head of his cock breaches her entrance and Bellamy bites back a growl. She’s just so fucking tight and wet around him, it’s insane. “How long?” he grinds out as he strenuously pushes another inch inside.

“Long,” she repeats, not giving him further details. He knows very well she’s been celibate for years now, that she hasn’t formed any sort of romantic attachment to anyone. She’s been taking care of her own needs very well, and the only time she was even remotely intimate in the past years was with Bellamy, when they were both blessedly drunk and uninhibited, and promptly pretended nothing happened the following morning.

Frankly she finds it a little irritating that he’s making her think about this, right now, when she just wants to focus on the feel of his cock stretching her to accommodate him.

“Oh, okay that feels really nice,” Clarke moans when he bottoms out. She angles her hips slightly upwards to meet his steady thrusts. “You?”

He sinks deep inside her, slowly, both groaning in unison as he stays there, the head of his cock kissing the mouth of her womb. “If you’re not telling I’m not either,” he says stubbornly.

Clarke rolls her eyes. By her estimations, he hasn’t been with anyone since Echo last gained permission to pass through their territory on her way to visit her relatives up north on the Swamp Lands, about two and a half years ago. She distinctively remembers because she didn’t speak a word to Bellamy that week.

Bellamy curls his fingers on the underside of her knees, pushing them up as far as they’ll go. The new angle makes Clarke shudder around him. “I missed sex.”

Bellamy smirks, pulling back and thrusting slowly, feeling every inch of her pussy clamp around him. “We’ve barely started.”

“You, maybe. I’m almost there, it’s embarrassing.”

She plants the soles of her feet on the mattress on either side of his hips, the new position offering her the leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. He pulls out and plunges back into her, over and over again, quickening his pace despite his intention to go slow; pounding fiercely, desperately, propelled by years of fantasizing about this moment. The tip of his cock butts her cervix with each downward stroke, but he just can’t get deep enough. Clarke cants her hips to receive him, moaning and gripping his shoulders. Her legs wrap around his hips, holding him tight.

She feels the exact moment when he completely lets go of what little control he had left, driving into her again and again, groaning his need against her neck and nibbling the soft skin under her jaw. She gasps, feeling the pressure build and coil tight low in her belly. Her hands grab his firm ass, urging him on. Of all the times she imagined this moment – and there were many – she could never quite picture such level of mind-snapping passion, climbing higher and higher with every stroke.

Her throat protests all the screaming she’s doing but Clarke can’t bring herself to care. She has a wild Bellamy on top of her, slamming into her without rhythm and murmuring senseless words of praise against her skin. She’s right where she wants to be.

Suddenly she goes still beneath him. Completely still. For all the screaming and moaning she’s been doing, her orgasm is an incredibly quiet affair, but earthshattering nonetheless. With a wordless little cry, she trembles and shakes, clinging desperately to Bellamy as if he’s her anchor. Her nails dig into his back, sure to leave their mark. He lifts his head just in time to see her face twisted with pleasure, her teeth biting down on her lower lip and her brow furrowed as the waves of her climax crash through her, making her pussy clench impossibly tight around his cock.

Her obvious pleasure sparks his. He thrusts deep, holding still inside her as far as he’ll go and joins her, shaking as he comes with raw, wrenching spasms, a pleasure so fierce it feels close to pain. Bellamy jerks with each pulsing beat of release, forcing his cock deeper inside her even as the tension eases.

With one last groan, he collapses on top of her, drained and satisfied.

Clarke sighs contentedly, caressing his back soothingly. In a moment she’ll have to ask him to roll over and let her breathe, but for now she’s happy to stay right where she is, being as close to Bellamy as physically possible. She smiles blissfully, anticipation coursing through her sated limbs, knowing he’ll warm her bed for the next eleven days during her fertile time of the month.

She swallows down the brief surge of grief at the thought that she’ll only have him like this until she gets pregnant. That is all she asked of him, after all, and though she’s sure to miss him afterwards, she can’t fault him for continuing with his life after he gives her what she wants. She’s determined to enjoy the time she has Bellamy without worrying about the future.

And who knows, maybe he’ll change his mind along the way. A girl can dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How you feel about the POV change? I am very appreciative of your feedback, so please take a moment to leave a comment :)


	3. The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words to express how much I appreciate your support. Your response to this fic is seriously mindblowing. I don't say it enough but THANK YOU.
> 
> There's a little bit of a time jump in this chapter, but nothing too drastic so I hope you guys don't mind. 
> 
> As always, Amanda, you are a goddess. I couldn't ask for a better beta.

She knows it the moment she wakes up.

She’s warm in her bed, bundled up under the covers to escape the chill in the air after the fire died out sometime during the night. The sky is the bluish gray that comes before dawn, casting faint light through the corners of the fur covering the window. Clarke shifts a little under her blankets, trying to get back to sleep. She turns on her side, pressing her legs together and shivering. As she changes positions she feels the shift low in her belly and the rush of dampness between her legs.

She’s out of the bed and crossing the living area of the cabin in seconds, shutting the door of the bathroom as gently as possible so as not to disturb Bellamy’s sleep. He just mumbles in his sleep and turns on his side on the couch, continuing his rest uninterrupted.

Clarke finds precisely what she expected on the restroom. She stares at the fresh blood stains on the inside of her panties for a long moment, then shakes her head with a small sigh and goes about the process of cleaning herself up and taking the necessary precautions during this time of the month.

So she’s not pregnant. That sucks. It was foolish of her to expect to conceive on their first try – well, actually, they tried more than once. In fact, Clarke lost count of how many times they _tried_ during those blessed days where she estimated she was at the fertile stage of her cycle.

The memory of those eleven days brings a smile to Clarke’s face. The initial awkwardness of their first time dissipated more quickly than she had expected. The morning after, Clarke woke up to Bellamy trailing hot kisses down the back of her neck and, without thinking, turned around to properly reciprocate his attention. She’d thought they would be assaulted by another bout of nervousness like the previous night before they got a chance to talk it out, and that maybe she would have to pretend everything was normal, when for her, being with Bellamy had rattled her to the very core.  What little illusions she might have harbored about the fact that she wasn't completely and irrevocably in love with him were crushed.

They went on as usual in every other aspect of their lives. The only difference was that they went to bed together every night. Clarke had hung a calendar on the inside of her bedroom door signaling her fertile days and as the week passed crossed each one out. She quickly started to resent the thing as the last days of her cycle drew near, and ended up shoving it in a drawer the morning of the last day. That last night Bellamy’s sexual appetite was overwhelmingly high and he kept waking her up to have sex. It might’ve been her imagination, but it was almost as if he was reluctant to let them both succumb to sleep.

The following night they slept separately by tacit agreement, Bellamy in his own quarters and Clarke in her cabin, alone.

That pattern didn’t hold, of course, since Bellamy still had dinner with her practically every night, and consequently spent the nights on her couch. And maybe her skin burned from even the most casual touch, and their hugs increased in frequency, and there was a certain heat in Bellamy’s eyes whenever they were in the same room that without fail sent her heart to a gallop- but no, everything was perfectly normal between them and not awkward at all.

She’s disappointed she didn’t conceive, yes, but she didn’t have much time to get her hopes up. Now that Clarke thinks about it, her period has come early this month. She’s been making her estimations based on the average twenty-eight days menstrual cycle she had while she still had her implant, but if her natural cycle in shorter, as this unexpected period suggests, then she needs to re-evaluate her calculations.

Clarke nods purposefully. She’ll revise her calendar and adjust her predictions. It’s likely her ovulation period will be not only shorter but also start earlier. Perhaps with a few adjustments, next month will be different.

Besides, she gets to be with Bellamy again. Nothing to complain about there.

She slips out of the restroom just as Bellamy sits up on the couch. The bear pelt he uses as blanket slides down his chiseled chest and pools at his waist, offering her a mouthwatering sight even in the dim pre-dawn light.

“Clarke?” he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, hugging her robe tighter around her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, considering if she should tell him. They’ve been close as can be for years, but Clarke has never shared the particulars of her menstrual cycle with him. “I just got my period,” she confesses with a small voice, taking a leap of faith. They _are_ trying to make a baby, so she should share this with him shouldn’t she?

Bellamy blinks at her. “Oh,” he frowns, blinks again, and shakes his head. “Oh,” he repeats, but this time it sounds like he actually understands her meaning. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was only our first try,” Clarke says, shrugging.

He nods. “Yeah.”

She notices when his eyelids begin to droop and feels guilty for accidently waking him up. The emergency council meeting wrapped up way past midnight and he was dead on his feet when he dragged himself to Clarke’s cabin last night. She’d gone to bed hours earlier, waking up only when she heard him moving quietly around the main room before settling down. She though he would’ve slept in his own quarters in Mount Weather, as that was more convenient than crossing all the way down to Clarke’s, but she was secretly pleased that he hadn’t and had promptly fallen back asleep with a smile on her face, only lamenting that he hadn’t snuggled up beside her on the bed.

“Go back to sleep,” Clarke gently orders him, padding over the freezing floor to his side and pushing him down on his back. He shakes his head, staying firm. When she relents, Bellamy stands up and grabs her hand, groggily leading her back to her bedroom.

“I have to get up early anyway,” he explains as he motions for her to get back in bed, his voice thick with sleep. “Do you need anything?” he asks as he tucks the covers around her.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Let me know?” he says, the words significantly distorted by a huge yawn.

Clarke smiles. He’s adorable when he’s sleepy. “I’ll let you know,” she promises.

Bellamy nods slowly, his eyes closed. She waits a moment for him to move, but he appears to have fallen asleep standing by her bed. “Bellamy?” she calls softly.

He jerks himself awake. “Yeah?”

She bites her lip, looking at the dark circles under his eyes. “Will you stay with me for a while?”

Her big, warm bed poses too great a temptation. Clarke scoots back to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers back so Bellamy can slide in. Once they’re both settled, Bellamy turns on his side facing her. He looks at her through sleepy eyes, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. She ends up on her side as well, facing away from him and with Bellamy curled around her. The firm band of his arm holds her middle captive.

“Just for a few minutes,” he mumbles sleepily.

Clarke counts to ten and Bellamy begins to snore softly. She falls asleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about this one? You know I love hearing from you so don't be shy!!
> 
> And also, I'm bellohmyblake on tumblr, and Amanda is amacancion, so come hang out/rant about Jason and Co./cry a lot with us!


	4. The Glowing Tringle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on schedule as promised! I have to say, I'm oddly proud of myself for not skipping an updating deadline yet, this is UNHEARD OF lol
> 
> Okay, this is Bellamy's long awaited POV with a healthy dose of smut to get us going. I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, you might wanna go ahead and google 'the glowing triangle' to get a visual of what I'm going with here. I really did try my best to describe the position but you may need it.
> 
> As always, my thanks to Amanda for being a world-class beta.

She’s all around him. Lips locked in a sloppy kiss, legs wrapped firmly around his hips. His arms protest from holding her weight up for so long, but the pain pales in comparison to the feel of her wet pussy clinging to his cock. Clarke moans into the kiss non-stop, the gentle rocking movement of her hips driving both of them crazy. Bellamy adjusts his hips slightly – he’s not supposed to move but hell, his brain will explode if he doesn’t – ending up more securely cradled between Clarke’s thighs. She yelps and clenches around him, the added depth sending a burst of pleasure through her like electricity.

“Clarke,” Bellamy groans harshly, his lips still against hers.

“I know, I know,” she threads her fingers through his unruly curls and brings him down for a proper kiss as the rocking of her hips increases.

The telling clench of her inner walls intensifies as his cock consistently rubs her g-spot with every movement. Then Clarke sighs with her whole body, overtaken by trembles as the climax rolls through her. Bellamy doesn’t wait any longer. He lets the contractions of her pussy milk his cock, staying perfectly still deep inside her as Clarke instructed as he empties his seed.

Finally, he collapses over her, having the presence of mind to move a bit to the side so as not to crush her. “I think that’s my favorite,” he pants, smiling internally as the puffs of air leaving his mouth tease her hair.

“We haven’t tried the other ones yet,” she reminds him weakly. “But that was something, wasn’t it?” Clarke agrees, equally out of air. Her creamy skin is flushed everywhere his eyes touch her, evidence of the passion they shared. He could look at her for days and never get enough. “Hand me another pillow please?”

Bellamy carefully slides of out her, the separation extracting a moan from Clarke that sounds like music to his ears. He locates a pillow on the floor. Clarke raises her hips off of the pillow she put below her before they started having sex, and Bellamy piles the other one on top before she drops back down to rest on them. The result is a strange mix of comical and arousing. Clarke looks like she got stuck trying to do the bridge pose, and for that he will allow a small smile, but knowing that she’s taking this measures to ensure that his seed stays inside her and his sperm travel faster brings out the caveman in him.

She approached the subject tonight during dinner. Bellamy ate his stew in silence as she went on about the adjustments she’d made to her calendar and how she’d narrowed down her fertile time to six days instead of eleven like last month. He had grieved for the loss of those extra days he would’ve had sex with her, but her second revelation more than made up for the loss.

While the times they’d had sex the previous month were certainly pleasurable, they made the mistake of doing some positions that don’t exactly help to conceive. So, from now on, they would only try positions that allowed for deeper penetration and that stimulated her in a way that ensured better orgasms.

She had said all that with a straight face, and in that doctor-y voice of hers. It turned Bellamy on so much he abandoned his dinner and threw her over his shoulder, demanding she tell him more as he carried her to the bedroom.

“What was the name of this one again?” he asks her, absently touching the outside of her thigh.

“Um,” Clarke frowns, struggling to remember – no easy feat when he’s this close to her, naked, and touching her. “The glowing triangle, I think.”

“Where are you getting all this stuff?”

“I found a copy of the Kama Sutra in Mount Weather’s library,” Clarke explains, motioning to her bookcase. “I earmarked all the positions we should focus on.”

Bellamy catapults himself off the bed and reaches for the book, the sound of Clarke’s laughter ringing in his ears. He leafs through the book greedily, his interest evident to Clarke. He hums and nods when he finds a position he particularly likes, frowning when he doesn’t. “We’re not doing this one,” he determines, angling the book to one side and then the other trying to make sense of the pictures.

“Which one?” Clarke wonders. He shows her. “But it’s said to be most effective,” she argues.

“I don’t care how much you want a baby, I’m not fucking you while you’re standing on your hands with your legs in the air.”

He finally decides on a position. “Okay, we’re gonna try this one now,” he says, showing her the book. “Up on all fours.”

Clarke laughs again, propping herself up on her elbows. “We’re not going to do it again tonight,” she informs him, chuckling when his face falls. “Save your strength for my ovulation day. We’re not going to leave this cabin at all.”

Bellamy throws himself back on the bed, landing on his side with the book open between them. “When is that again?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

He nods, fingering the earmarked corner of the page. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“It’s a date then.”

Bellamy catches the exact moment Clarke realizes precisely what she said. The change is abysmal. Her teasing smile slips away gradually and she pales under her passion-blushed cheeks. She looks away nervously.

Damn it. If he doesn’t do something fast she’s going to pull away from him completely, and all the progress they’ve made over the past couple of months will be severely set back.

He hates that she withdraws from him whenever they veer into unfamiliar territory. It’s a fine line they’re walking, between friends with benefits and a specific goal, and becoming something that he can only dream about without feeling guilty. Is she afraid he’s going to get his hopes up that she feels something more for him that just friendship? If so, she needn’t be. He knows Clarke isn’t ready for that kind of commitment, that her heart is still scarred from all the times it’s been broken, and as long as that’s the case, a real relationship is not possible between them.

She chooses to share the best parts of herself with him. Her friendship, her trust, her loyalty. Her passion. And Clarke has _him_ , completely, even if he’s not good enough for her and never will be.

“So when I ask for the day off, what should I tell Kane?” he says lightly. He gently touches her shoulder, hungry for contact. “You know he’s going to make me fill out a form.”

Her smile is tentative at first, but turns into a full blown grin in no time. The gratitude in her eyes for the subject change does something funny to his heart. “He is not.”

“He totally will. It’ll go on my permanent record and everything. Can’t lie,” Bellamy shakes his head, smirking as he closes the brief distance between them. He props himself up on his elbow and leans down close enough to kiss Clarke. “I’m gonna have to specify which of these positions we’re gonna try too,” he says mischievously, tapping the hard cover of the book.

Clarke’s brow furrows in mock worry. “Do you think you’ll need to bring it up to the Council for approval?”

“Totally. I’ll prepare a presentation, draw pictures and everything.” He chuckles. “Your mom’s gonna love that.”

“Eww, gross!” Clarke winces. She turns to the side closer to him and drags the pillows out from under her, kicking them away.

Bellamy tugs on the blankets and covers them completely. On their sides, facing each other, the only source of light coming from the fire and painting her in golden hues, he’s never seen her look more beautiful.

“I’ll make sure I’m free that day,” he says, his voice gruff with promise.

Clarke’s eyelids droop sleepily and she licks her lips as she nods. Bellamy drops a chaste kiss on her lips before he too lets sleep claim him.

It’s totally a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how you feel! Love it, hate it, I wanna know! actually, no, if you hated it please don't tell me I will cry a lot.


	5. The Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I'm so sorry this chapter is a couple of days late! As you probably know the Archive crashed on Wednesday and only came back online almost 24 hours later (or at least it took that long for me to be able to access the site...) I was a little worried so I decided to wait some time before I put the new chapter up.
> 
> Anyway, all is good so here we are. Please give a round of applause to Amanda who editted this at lightning speed after I made a few last minute modifications. Girl, you know I love you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarke lingers at the door of the training room, her hands fisted inside the pockets of her lab-coat as she watches the cadets go through several training exercises. She doesn’t particularly like coming inside Mount Weather, and avoids it whenever possible. It makes her nervous. She’s gotten used to the medical wing, especially after her mother took her on a tour years ago and showed her the renovations they’d done to the section where the cages were located. There is no hint of the torture chamber it once was, and her work gradually distracted her from her surroundings until Clarke was no longer bothered. This was once a place where horrible things were done to people, but they’ve made new memories over that. She’s celebrated birthday parties, both hers and for the other medical staff; has helped to bring to this world several babies and saved more lives than she can count. The medical wing is as much her home as her cabin in the woods.

But she still has trouble with the rest of the military base. It’s not as bad as before, when every hallway could trigger a panic attack, but she knows she’ll never be entirely comfortable here.

She waves at Bellamy, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, but her efforts are wasted. Her presence hasn’t escaped the notice of every guard and young cadet in the room.

Bellamy sees her, says a few words to the group of cadets he’s been instructing, and crosses the room directly towards her. Clarke’s heartbeat speeds up, memories of their time alone never too far from her mind.

“Hey,” she greets him, her voice shrill and incredibly pathetic to her own ears. She wishes she could kiss him hello, but she doesn’t have that right, not in private and certainly not in front of his subordinates.

“Hey,” he touches her elbow, the heat of his palm caressing her skin even through the layers of clothing. “I thought I was meeting you at the cabin later tonight. I’m gonna be swamped all day,” he says, frowning at the rows of guards and cadets half-heartedly performing their exercises and straining to listen in on their conversation.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clarke bites her lip, lowering her voice. “It’s just – there’s been a change in plans,” she whispers apologetically. “I took my temperature. I’m ovulating today, not tomorrow like I thought I would be.”

“Damn.”

“I know.”

They both arranged their schedule so they would have tomorrow off, fully planning to lock themselves in her cabin and have sex until they were completely spent. In exchange, they both signed up for incredibly busy days today to make up in advance for the time off. Clarke is currently on her lunch break and due to be back in the medical wing in twenty minutes with a long line of patients waiting for her.

“I can take off fifteen minutes right now,” Bellamy offers.

Clarke nods enthusiastically. “Lead the way.”

Luckily, he has an office with a lock. The fact that it’s located across the training room is unfortunate though. Clarke consoles herself in knowing at least the windows have blinds.

She’s on him before the door is completely closed, clinging to his neck and waging war on his mouth. Bellamy grips her hips and pushes her against the closed door, rocking his hips against her with all the finesse of a rutting animal. He briefly tears his mouth from her and opens his eyes, realizing far too late that while the glass pane of the door against which he’s holding Clarke up is frosted, their silhouettes can be clearly seen from the other side. Before Clarke can realize this, he traps her mouth on a searing kiss, tearing her from the door and walking with her towards his desk.

Clarke sits on the edge, quickly shoving the sparse articles off the surface. She toes off her shoes and slides out of her pants at lightning speed while Bellamy releases his erect cock from his uniform pants. She settles her back down on the cool wood and spreads her legs wide open.

Bellamy steps between them, fingering the slick folds of her pussy and growling in appreciation at how ready she is. “Have you been leafing through your naughty book and thinking about me?”

“Shut up,” Clarke blushes, embarrassed by the truth of his statement. She didn’t have time to go through her copy of the Kama Sutra today, no, but she does have a nearly photographic memory and thoughts of Bellamy are never too far from her brain. Not even when she’s administering vaccinations or seeing patients, God help her.

Bellamy smiles at her and leans down to brush a tender kiss on her lips, effectively dissipating her embarrassment.

He pulls her legs up to rest on his shoulders and grips her hips, elevating them. He slides inside her in one long thrust.

Bellamy snaps his hips, slamming into her over and over. Clarke holds the edge of the desk over her head and bites her fist to muffle her moans. It’s bad enough that everyone outside the office has probably guessed what they’re doing, she’s not going to elevate her embarrassment by letting them hear her.

Close to losing control, Bellamy rubs tight circles over her slick clit, determined to take her with him. Clarke jerks beneath him, the force of his thrusts and the stimulation to her clit rapidly sending her over the edge. She tastes blood from how hard she bit into her fist to silence her cries. Bellamy’s lips latch to her ankle as the tremors take over him, and she feels him pulse his seed inside her.

They get dressed quickly and without fuss. Clarke apologizes for making a mess of the papers on his desk and makes an earnest attempt to put it all back in its original place, but Bellamy stops her fussing hands and gently steers her towards the door, mumbling under his breath he’s never going to be able to get any work done here ever again anyway.

The scent of sex hangs thick in the air. Belatedly, his face flaming and studiously avoiding her gaze, Bellamy pulls on the lever to close the air vent over the door. Clarke bites back a nervous chuckle. She curls her hand around the doorknob, but he stops her before she opens the door. He kisses her, long and hard, surprising her. “See you tonight?”

Clarke nods drowsily, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again. Finally, they break apart and exit the office. Clarke makes her way directly to the door with her head held high, ignoring the looks of the guards and young cadets. She’s not yet at the door when Bellamy’s bellow bounces off the walls, ordering everyone to get back to work. 

She doesn’t try to hide her smile the rest of the day. Not even when, with a knowing look, her mother tugs a post-it from the back of her lab coat and suggests she might want to bring Bellamy to their next family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of this one? Don't be shy, tell me ALL about it ;-)


	6. The Date, Pt. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is incredibly late, I have no excuse other than I suck. I am sorry! Please have some smut and forgive me e.e

The sun is high in the sky when Bellamy wakes up, sunshine slipping stubbornly through the edges of the fur covering the window and piercing the cloak of darkness in the room.

He never gets to sleep in. Daylight is precious, especially in the fall and winter months, and there are always more pressing matters to see to than lingering in bed. Although with Clarke’s slumbering warmth pressed against him, curled onto a ball on her side with her hands tucked under her head, Bellamy admits he might have to revise that statement. He wouldn’t mind getting used to lazy mornings like this one.

Call him crazy, but waking up next to her is the best part of his new arrangement with Clarke, in his opinion. Well. The sex is right up there on the list, he supposes, but there’s just something fascinating about the way she sleeps, virtually irradiating peace. It’s contagious. Bellamy never sleeps better than when he’s around her, a fact he discovered early on when he brought her back home.

He had a hard time back them, especially while Clarke was away and he was left to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of their people. It wasn’t smooth sailing with Abby and Kane those first couple of months and it took a while to figure out a working system. He can’t be sure things would’ve been easier if Clarke had been around back then – but he wouldn’t have felt so alone, probably.

And the nights where the worst part. Everyone had nightmares. You could hear the ragged breathing and the screams at night, and notice the evidence of lack of sleep the following mornings. But his nightmares were quiet. He didn’t wake up in a sweat like Lincoln, or scream like Harper, or thrash and call Maya’s name like Jasper. He would lay down, pass out from exhaustion and a couple of hours later he would wake up tasting blood and paralyzed, terrified to move until the fog of memories dissipated and he could be sure he wasn’t locked in a cage or hanging from his ankles. After that sleep was impossible to come to.

Bellamy didn’t get a good night sleep until he found Clarke. The journey back home carrying her feverish and delirious was grueling but he slept wrapped around her at night to ward off the cold and to protect her from an attack, and still felt better rested than he had in months.

After that, they were forced on occasion to make camp away from home and well, they gravitated to one another. They could blame it on the cold or practicality, and those were definitely valid reasons, but contact between them or even just, proximity, being within touching distance, had a soothing effect. There was absolutely nothing sexual between them those times but having her close was… nice. It felt right.

Now… well for starters they’re naked, so yeah. It’s definitely sexual. They left platonic territory in the dust after their first night together, at least as far as he’s concerned. And when before he could only get a guilty kind of pleasure from sleeping or waking up close to her and picture impossible _what could be’s_ , he can now get more err, _creative_.

Yesterday was crazy. After their impromptu meeting in his office he dragged his feet the rest of the day, which is a problem when he has as much responsibility as he does. Overseeing training of the young cadets is only part of his duties. He also coordinates with the hunting teams under Miller’s command, assists Octavia’s ground tactical team when needed, and holds public forums twice a week, in addition to the weekly Council meetings he’s required to assist.

He has excellent time-organization skills, and granted a big part of his job is overseeing others, so Bellamy generally doesn’t have trouble balancing his considerable workload. They’re a well-oiled machine and he’s only a small part of the communal effort to keep it functioning smoothly. But taking a day off is not something he, or anyone else for that matter, do often, save for medical reasons. They all take huge pride in knowing the life they’ve built is the product of their hard work and relentless dedication, and thus continue working to leave their world a better place for the coming generations. Where they were once locked in space, now they thrive on the ground.

He knows Clarke was similarly busy yesterday. In fact she was in surgery for hours last night and only crawled into bed hours after Bellamy had settled in for the night to wait for her. He stirred when she undressed bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace and slid under the covers. He folded her into his arms under the covers but they only made out a little bit before they both promptly passed out.

Now he’s ready to make up for lost time. Going down on Clarke until she wakes up with an orgasm rushing through her seems like a good plan.

She basically sleeps like a rock so she doesn’t stir when Bellamy gently rolls her on her back and carefully splays her legs to make room for him. She _does_ let out a very unattractive snore when he brushes his lips low in her belly over the tickly patch of skin right above her curls. A lesser man would’ve been offended by it, but Bellamy takes it like a challenge.

He peppers whisper-soft kisses on the inside of her thighs before moving to her delectable pussy. He gently tongues her slit, tracing her cleft with the tip of his tongue, licking up to the top of her slit and back down again. He bathes her plump outer lips, repeating the motion several times until Clarke’s sharp inhale evidences a response.

Sure enough, Bellamy finds copious cream when he carefully spreads open her cunt, a reward for his efforts. He licks his lips, practically salivating at the sight. He uses the flat of his tongue now, eager to reach all crevices of her beautiful cunt at once.

To Bellamy’s unending amusement, Clarke continues to sleep. The only indications of arousal – other than the veritable liquid heat pooled beneath his tongue – are the blushing spots on the apple of her cheeks and her accelerated breathing. Little sighing moans pass her gaping lips when he starts to pay attention to her clit and her hips wiggle involuntarily.

Bellamy brings his fingers to his mouth, coating them with her combined juices and his saliva before he carefully inserts one lone finger into her hot channel. Clarke shifts her hips under him, a moan louder than the previous ones tearing from her lips as she unconsciously arches her hips to accept him deeper.

His finger remains motionless for a few moments as Bellamy licks around her clit, gently coaxing the little nub to emerge from its protective hood. When his finger slips out, he adds a second one, the flat of his tongue pressed against her clit and rubbing it from side to side.

Clarke’s whole body shudders. She stirs. “Bell?”

He looks at her over her pussy, her sleep laden eyes clashing with his heated gaze. Her pupils dilate, arousal swimming in the azure irises as she realizes what’s happening. Her walls clench involuntarily around his thick fingers and she bites her lip.

Bellamy traces her throbbing clit with his tongue. His fingers remain inside her, firmly clasped by her slick warmth. He’d meant to ease her into climax, for a sort of gentle wave of ecstasy to wash though her as she woke up fully. But he finds it hard to maintain that lazy pace as Clarke relaxes under him and spreads her legs wider, letting him lick and finger-fuck her cunt.

His fingers pump rhythmically into her as he sucks her clit into his mouth, lashing the sensitive button with the tip of his tongue. Clarke’s moans grow gradually louder. Bellamy abruptly removes his fingers extracting an outraged cry from Clarke. He lifts her hips and thrusts his tongue deep inside her, tasting her honey directly from the source. She grips his hair tightly and presses her pussy to his mouth, bucking shamelessly as she rides his tongue toward orgasm.

When she comes, it’s a thing of beauty and so delicious Bellamy can’t have enough. He laps at her eagerly as she rides out her orgasm, catching the fresh wetness as her pussy gets hotter. Her pleasure is his own and when he can’t stand it anymore he lets up and crawls up her body. Clarke pulls him down for a fierce kiss, licking her juices off his lips. He nearly comes on the spot right then, feeling her tongue the excess of wetness clinging to his lips and moaning softly at her own flavor.

With practiced ease, Bellamy slides his cock inside her inch by inch. The aftershocks of her climax trigger his own. Bellamy growls when he starts coming, biting his own lip so as not to hurt her, filling her in short, hard spurts, pumping his come deep in her pussy.

Sated, they kiss leisurely for long moments. “Good morning,” he says, punctuating each word with a ragged kiss.

Clarke giggles, twining her fingers on his hair on the back of his neck. “Sure is.” She hugs him tightly and Bellamy nuzzles his nose over her cheek. “How about some breakfast?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a second part, obviously, and I feel so guilty about being late that I might post it tomorrow. I really hope you're still enjoying this!


	7. The Date, Pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, part two!
> 
> Beta'd by [Amanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Farfallama/pseuds/Farfallama)

A smile still playing on her lips as she hums softly, Clarke slices the thick loaf of homemade bread and places the pieces on a baking sheet. The bread is two days old, but with a bit of butter slathered over it, a slice of cheese, some herbs sprinkled over that, and a few minutes inside the earth over, you can hardly tell the difference. Yesterday, she didn’t have time to prepare anything so they’ll have to survive on leftovers. Some fruit and nuts complete their late breakfast slash early lunch.

She takes a sip of her mint tea as she keeps a watchful eye over the oven, swaying slightly on her feet to the rhythm of her humming. Her surgery last night was touch and go for a moment, so Clarke wonders how her patient, Mr. Colt, is faring. She stayed late at the clinic after her shift was officially over, watching over him in post-op, poring over the chart and updating all her notes to make sure not a single detail was left out. It meant sacrificing alone time with Bellamy but her patients are her responsibility. It was bad enough that she wouldn’t be there when Mr. Colt woke up today because she’s taking time off for personal reasons.

But boy was it worth it. Clarke’s sex throbs and grows damp as she is assaulted by erotic visions of the special attention Bellamy paid to her pussy this morning. What a way to wake up… She presses her thighs together under her robe, rubbing them to assuage the need growing steadily in her nether region. She’d forgone panties, figuring they would be a waste of time. The purpose of removing themselves from their obligations for today, after all, was so they could narrow down on the prime of her ovulation cycle and have as much sex as possible. By going panty-less and wearing accessible clothing, Clarke is merely being sensible and efficient time-wise.

A strong arm wraps around her waist from behind while another hand falls hotly on her outer thigh, thumbing the hem of her gown and slowly dragging it up.

“Need any help?” Bellamy nibbles on her earlobe.

Clarke’s head falls back against his chest with a soft moan. His hand travels up her thigh and curls around her hip, his long calloused fingers exploring the crevice where her thigh ends and meets her hip.

Like she said. Easy access.

They spend the day in much the same way: half naked, constantly touching each other, and having short snack breaks between bouts of sex. Bellamy laughs when Clarke insists they should double their usual water intake in order to stay hydrated, but does as she says anyway, and then laughs some more every time she has to make a mad dash to the bathroom to pee because she has an annoyingly small bladder.

They page through the Kama Sutra together, Bellamy insisting now and then they should add a few positions to the ones Clarke has previously earmarked. Bellamy pulls a leg muscle trying one of the most daring ones, so Clarke gives him a deep tissue massage that extends to the rest of his body, which turns into cuddling on the bed, which turns into him fucking her slowly from behind while he spoons her, and then a nap.

He’s gone when she wakes up and Clarke experiences a brief moment of panic. The possibility that he might regret everything that happened between them is far-fetched and unreasonable to her own mind, but it still takes her awhile to shake off the feeling of abandonment and convince herself that he’ll be back. The whole situation brings the tenuousness of their relationship to the forefront of her mind, especially when contrasted with their idyllic day together.

He comes back not much later with two plump quails for dinner. Bellamy won’t let her help while he cooks, so Clarke fishes out her sketchbook and draws some of their intimate moments from memory.

They eat on the couch, tucking into the spicy stew with gusto. She’s still practically naked, her robe tied loosely at the waist. Bellamy, on the other hand, is completely dressed, since he didn’t change after coming back from hunting. Their different states of undress exhilarate Clarke, reminding her of their first night together, how he’d bared her body to his touch and made her burn with desire while he was still completely clothed.

She brazenly offers to relieve him of his clothes and thanks him for dinner with a blow job that has him panting in two minutes flat. Bellamy doesn’t let her finish, however, helping her climb up and straddle his lap instead. In one fluid motion, Clarke grasps his hard, thick cock and positions it at the entrance of her pussy. She slides down on him gradually, taking his cock where she so badly needs it.

Occupied with her breasts, Bellamy lets her set an unhurried pace. Clarke rolls her hips tentatively, experimenting with what feels best while he fondles one heavy breast with one hand and draws the other nipple into his wet mouth. Short but intense bursts of pleasure rush through her from the invisible thread between her nipples and her clit as Bellamy’s calloused fingers pluck and roll one nipple, and he urgently sucks on the other.

Her movements quickly turn erratic, but Bellamy holds perfectly still save from his attention to her breasts. Clarke breathlessly bucks her hips against him, heady with the intoxicating sense of power as _she_ fucks _him_.

Her clit slams down just so on his pubic bone and her long-chased orgasm finally washes over Clarke, her core clenching around the hard column that is Bellamy’s cock. He twitches warningly inside her. “Quick!” she says hurriedly, half moaning. “Flip me over before you come!”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Clarke stares at him confused, a scandalized gasp tearing from her lips when Bellamy lifts her up and off his lap. She protests but, without a word, he maneuvers her onto her hands and knees, facing away from him. A fraction of a second later she’s caught on to his intentions, so with a moan of anticipation, Clarke braces herself against the coffee table and spreads her legs wide accordingly.

Bellamy wastes no time driving home inside her still-convulsing channel. His warm hands bracket her hips, lifting her to adjust the angle of his penetration. Clarke shudders, feeling him bottom out. It’s incredible to have him so deep inside her, filling her completely. His thrusts are hard and precise. Clarke digs her nails into the scarred wood of the table and uses the leverage to push back against him. As a result, he hardly slips out of her, the head of his cock moving away from the end of her channel and then pressing hard against it over again. The intense sensation of being so completely taken, coupled with the wet slap of skin and Bellamy’s uninterrupted string of throaty moans, quickly bring around another climax for Clarke.

A lot of things happen at once.

The piercing pleasure is so intense Clarke screams in ecstasy, pushing the table before them a good foot and knocking over their ceramic dinner bowls in the processes.

Bellamy presses her chest to the floor with the flat of his hand splayed over her back, and Clarke follows, dropping her head to her forearms with a moan of submission, waiting for him to pour his come inside her.

The front door bangs open with a firm kick, followed by an alarmed “Clarke, are you okay?!”, and then Marcus’s horrified gasp. “Abby don’t look!”

“Oh no,” Clarke whimpers, burrowing her flaming face deeper into her forearms. Behind her, and directly facing their visitors, Bellamy is paralyzed.

Then comes her mother’s absurdly calm voice. “ _Honestly_ Marcus, I told you to wait. We’ll come back later,” she calls out. “Carry on.”

At last, the door slams closed.

Long minutes pass. “Are they really gone?” Clarke asks timidly.

She hears Bellamy swallow. “Don’t know. I don’t want to look.”

Clarke raises her head, first checking that they are in fact alone, and then turns her head around to look at him. Bellamy still has a firm hold on her hips and he’s buried all the way inside her, but his face is pale with embarrassment, his mouth is contorted in a grimace, and his eyes are firmly shut.

“They’re gone,” she assures him, biting back a little laugh. She did hide her face like a coward while they had company, she can’t fault him for playing ‘if I can’t see them they can’t see me’.

He sighs, and carefully opens his eyes. Their gazes meet, and they share a nervous chuckle.

Bellamy shakes his head and carefully starts to slide out of her.

Clarke follows him, striving to keep his cock inside her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He stares at her like she’s crazy. “Seriously? You want to keep going? After what just happened?”

She shrugs. “They’re gone now, so?”

“So they said they’ll be back,” Bellamy huffs.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “ _Later,_ ” she clarifies. “Besides,” she continues with a wicked smirk, clenching the walls of her pussy around his cock. “You didn’t get to come yet.”

“I don’t know that I can,” he says gravely. “Never again, possibly. Their faces are burned onto my corneas.”

But his groan and the twitching of his cock belie his protest.

“If you’re sure,” Clarke pouts innocently, slowly moving away from him. Her drenched pussy clings to his cock, creating wonderful friction.

Bellamy groans again, louder this time, and his fingers dig into her hips. Clarke senses victory is near, and bites her lip.

“I really thought you’d make me come again when you came inside me, but I understand if you’re tired. I guess three orgasms are enough for one night,” she laments, adding a loud sigh for effect.

Bellamy’s eyes flash. “Three? I counted two.”

Clarke smiles inwardly. Her arms ache from holding herself up for so long, even more so when she braces one arm against the floor so her other hand can trail seductively across her chest. “I had a small one while you played with my breasts,” she caresses the generous mounds, illustrating her words.

Bellamy licks his lips hungrily, and looks down briefly before meeting her gaze head on and smirking. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Clarke stops fighting her grin. “Is it working?”

“You tell me.”

Without preamble, he thrusts deeply, breaching through the little resistance of her over-sensitized inner walls with his hard cock.

“Okay then,” Clarke moans happily. “Let’s make a baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have been wondering when other characters would show up so there you go, this is how the medling starts ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> [this is my trashcan](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


	8. The Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you guys enough! Your support means the world to me. You are seriously awesome.
> 
> So you got a little taste of Abby and Kane last chapter, and you guys seemed to really like it! Here's a little more, but this time everyone is wearing clothes ;-)

“What are your intentions with my step-daughter?”

Bellamy scowls at the man in front of him, begrudgingly admiring his conversation skills. After all, Kane went from discussing the security measures for the Unity Day celebration with him to inquiring about Clarke in the span of a sentence without altering his tone or facial expression, and did it so fluidly Bellamy almost answers honestly on the spot.

It’s been days since the _incident_ and no one has brought it up. Abby and Kane had been looking for him then for an emergency Council meeting regarding suspected poaching activity within their territory. Bellamy had expected the meeting to end in disaster, and was subsequently surprised and scared shitless when it went well. Kane and Abby had to have some sort of reaction to walking in on him having sex with Clarke. A _negative_ reaction. One of them at least was bound to be pissed and suggest banishment.

But they didn’t mention anything. There was a lot of lingering awkwardness and everyone, including Bellamy, had difficulty making eye contact, but. It was fine, everything was fine.

It made no sense.

“Please don’t say it’s complicated,” Kane continues before Bellamy has a chance to answer his question.

“It’s not, actually,” Bellamy clears his throat, trying to organize his thoughts and decide what he should say. He’s been expecting this conversation for days. He’s glad they’re finally clearing the air.

In the end, he goes with the truth. “We’re trying to make a baby.”

Only the briefest twitch in his eyebrows betray Kane’s unreadable look. This is not a man you want to play poker with, and Bellamy learnt that the hard way.

“I see.” Kane rests the underside of his forearms on his desk and leans forward slightly. “When and how exactly did you declare your love for Clarke? Please be precise with the details. There’s a betting pool.”

Bellamy closes his eyes with a silent groan. “I thought that was just a rumor,” he says flatly.

“It’s not.”

Bellamy peeks at the man he thinks of as a father and finds him smiling genuinely. “Who else is involved?”

“I can’t disclose any details. The pool’s been going strong for years now and has acquired quite a few participants along the way. I’m afraid their identities are classified,” Marcus informs him, expertly containing his smirk.

“How much do you have riding on it?”

“Enough.”

“Well, you’re all going to be real disappointed,” Bellamy says bitterly. “There was no love declaration.”

“But… you are trying to have a child?”

“That’s correct.”

Marcus stares at Bellamy for a few seconds in silence. He shakes his head. “Explain.”

Bellamy tells everything under Marcus’ unimpressed glare, skipping past the intimate details of his arrangement with Clarke. When he’s finished, Marcus sighs, produces a bottle of fine moonshine and two crystal tumblers from the bottom drawer of his desk and pours two generous drinks. He throws his back with a curse on his lips, pours himself again and pushes the other drink towards Bellamy.

“It’s ten am,” he declines politely with a small shake of his head.

Marcus ignores him, nursing his drink. “Bellamy are you aware of how completely moronic and doomed to failure your arrangement with Clarke is?”

Bellamy stares at him flatly, then sighs heavily and reaches for his drink.

\--

“A little more suction please.”

Clarke dutifully clears the area where her mother is working.

“So you and Bellamy are together.”

Clarke glares at her mother over the operating table. Abby innocently stares back, half her face obscured by a sterile surgical mask. “You want to talk about this _now_?”

Abby shrugs and continues working. Clarke shakes her head. Now everything makes sense. Her mother browbeat her into assisting her today on a routine procedure she’s observed and performed many times over, instead of giving the opportunity to one of the apprentices. Never let it be said Abby Griffin doesn’t make backing you against a corner into a form of art.

“I’m not judging you,” Abby assures her. “You know I like and respect Bellamy, so you obviously have my blessing, not that you need it. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me that you are a couple now.”

The soft reprimand homes in on Clarke’s heart. Her mother and her have come a long way and their relationship is stronger than ever. Honesty is the foundation, a lesson they’ve both learned the hard way, so she absolutely detest lying to Abby. Confessing the truth, that she plainly asked Bellamy to help her become pregnant because that’s the only way he would consider being with her? That as much as she wishes it different he just doesn’t return her feelings? She doesn’t think she could live through that embarrassment.

The mere thought of having to come clean about it to everyone, to her friends, makes her stomach twist in knots. With the exception of Raven no one know but she will have to tell, eventually, when she gets pregnant and people start to wonder. She doesn’t want to worry about it in advance or imagine their collective pitying eyes judging her. Raven actively campaigned to get Clarke to change her mind about her plan because she thought it was a bad idea, and she is her _best friend_. She hates to think how everyone else will react.

Coming clean to her mother about her shortcomings is, just, a whole other level of humiliation.

“We’re not together. We’re just friends. I recently decided I want to have a baby, so naturally I asked my best friend to help me out.”

She gets her little speech out in a calm and efficient manner. Her voice doesn’t waver once and for that Clarke mentally pats her back.

“Naturally,” Abby drawls, before cutting out the appendix before her, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. “So he will not be involved when the child comes?”

Clarke reels back, offended in his behalf. “Of course he will be!”

“Sorry,” Abby says. “My bad. I was under the impression he’s merely a sperm donor despite your rather ah, _hands on_ approach on conception.”

Clarke adamantly refuses to be embarrasses about a beautiful act between two consenting adults. She feels a blush bloom all over her face still because, well, _of course_. “I love him okay. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

She looks down, and with a heavy heart tells the whole truth to her mother: harboring romantic feelings for Bellamy for so long she can’t even pinpoint exactly when they started; staying silent, wondering if he returned her feeling and waiting for a sign from him that never came; getting tired of putting her life on hold waiting for something he might never give her and boldly requesting Bellamy to be the father of her child, so that she might have him in some capacity before she inevitably has to move on. Her eyes burn with tears she won’t let herself shed by the time she’s finished.

Through it all Abby listened patiently without interrupting her, and continued operating on her patient as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. The finishing stitches coincide with Clarke’s last stretch of her monologue. She sighs deeply, looking at her daughter in the eye for the first time since she started talking. “I don’t know why you got it into your head that Bellamy isn’t madly in love with you, but it’s not my job to convince you of that so I’m not going to try.”

Clarke swallows thickly and nods, trying to regulate her erratic breathing to keep her tears at bay. She will not have a break-down in the OR.

“I love you and all I care about is your happiness,” Abby continues, carefully removing her gloves and surgical mask. “You need to have an honest conversation with Bellamy. You _owe_ yourself that.”

Having already disposed of her own gloves, Clarke rubs her burning eyes with the balls of her hands. _Talk to Bellamy_. Yeah right. All she’s been doing for the past six years is talking to him, _just_ talking, and all it did was confirm that he just doesn’t like her that way. Bellamy is a proactive guy, when he wants something he goes and gets it. If he wanted her he would’ve made a move by now.

If Clarke tells him how she really feels about him… it would change everything, and not for the better. She can’t risk losing him. She can’t. She would rather love him in silence and keep him in her life.

Her mother’s soft touch on her shoulder startles her. “On your own time of course,” Abby smiles kindly, gently rubbing soothing circles on Clarke’s back.

The double doors of the OR open at that moment and a group of apprentices come in. Clarke leaves her mother to take care of her patient’s post-op and slips out unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That did not go how you were expecting did it? Sorry! In my defense, I never said I'd make things easy for Clarke and Bellamy ^_^
> 
>  
> 
> [this way to my trashcan](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


	9. The Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I want to thank each and every one of you who keeps up with this story, your support and genuine enjoyment of this fic is what fuels me. I don't say it enough but thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading!
> 
> I thought long and hard about whether I should address this issue. I know I'm supposed to accept negative comments like a grown up and take the high road, but to the person(s) who left those comments saying they liked this fic in the beginning but it's gone downhill and that it's a disappointment, please just don't do it again. If you really feel that way, just back out of this fic and go read something that makes you happy. Writing and sharing with others makes me happy, it makes me even happier when people tell me about it in a comment or I see the amount of kudos. So when I got the email notification for two new comments you can bet my heartbeat sped up in anticipation, because it does that every. time. and it's honestly the highlight of my day. But then I read them and honestly I don't see what the point was other than to be hurtful, so please just don't. You guys all know I reply to every comment and if you have questions or want to discuss a plot point or characterization, I'm down for it. I love that honestly. But there was nothing constructive or engaging or even nice about those two comments, so please when in doubt, if you have nothing nice to say don't say it.
> 
> I'm probably blowing this out of proportion, but this is the first time this happens to me and I guess I just wanted to say something.
> 
> Anyway. This was edited by Amanda. I hope you like it.

“I just don’t understand why it’s not happening.”

Raven rolls her eyes and shifts against the plush cushion cradling her back, absentmindedly massaging her extended stomach. The weather is unusually mild today, the sun shining brightly on a blue sky clear of clouds and chasing the autumn chill. It was so nice, Clarke offered to sit with Raven outside so she could breathe some fresh air, but her friend was proving to be especially exasperating today. “Oh my god, will you stop whining,” Raven finally snaps. “It’ll happen when it happens.”

Clarke stops her pacing to and fro Raven’s porch and gapes at her annoyingly pregnant friend. “We’ve been trying for two months, Raven,” she say. “Two whole months.”

“Yes and I’m sure having wild sex with Bellamy is such a chore to you.”

“That’s – that – what has that got to do with anything?” Clarke sputters.

Raven sighs loudly. Clarke recognizes the signs of her working herself up for a rant and braces herself accordingly. As if she wasn’t in enough pain already. “After years and years of whining and waiting and the endless conversations I’ve had to endure, _endure_ I tell you, about how he’s your best friend and you love him so much but is he over Echo?” she asks with mock concern, gasping for effect. “Does he see you like more than a friend? Is it wrong for you to think about him like that?” Raven pretends to bite her nails anxiously, before dropping her act and fixing Clarke with flat glare. “You are finally, _at last_ , having filthy, wild sex with Bellamy Blake, whom you’ve lusted after for years. And you are complaining because he still hasn’t put a baby in you? Really?”

Clarke eyes Raven through narrowed eyes. “Okay, I don’t want you thinking about me having sex with Bellamy please. It’s making me a little uncomfortable to tell you the truth.”

“Oh, come one! Give me this!” Raven cries, raising her hands in the air. “I am the size of a dropship, I haven’t been able to see my feet since spring and thanks to your overly protective mother my very hot, very sexually talented husband isn’t allowed to sex me up, so please just let me live vicariously through to you. Friends share the details of their amazing, filthy, delicious sex lives.”

“I worry about you.”

“I worry that if I don’t get laid soon I’m going to spontaneously combust but I guess we all have our crosses to carry.”

Clarke sighs tiredly. She rubs the small of her back, relaxing the muscles there. The cramps and back pain have gotten worse since she went off birth control. “It’s not safe for you to have sex before the birth and you know it,” she explains for the umpteenth time.

It’s not safe for Raven to do much of anything but rest since Clarke’s mother diagnosed her with preeclampsia when she entered her third trimester. Raven has diligently followed the doctor’s orders, but her frustration is palpable and she complains every time she can. Her brashness is also, in Raven-speak, and indicating factor of how scared she is, so Clarke goes along with it and it actually helps her friend. If Raven goes quiet, that’s when Clarke knows she should worry.

“And after the baby comes I’ll have to wait from six to eight weeks before I’m recovered enough but it’s not like that’s gonna matter since I will be dealing with a screaming, demanding new born and my life will be dedicated to feeding and changing him or her so I’m looking at approximately six more months of enforced celibacy here,” Raven states, sharply.

“You know, if I didn’t you any better I’d think you’re not happy about the new baby,” Clarke says tactfully.

“What are you talking about? I’m thrilled,” Raven crosses her arms over her chest and leans back on her chair, daring Clarke to question her. She just bites back a smile. “But trust me on this, enjoy the baby making part because actual pregnancy is, like, the worst. And for my sake, have as much sex as you can and share all your dirty details with me.”

“You’re insane. I don’t have dirty details.”

“Clarke you’ve been thirsting for Bellamy for years. There are details. I want them.”

Suddenly a dark curly head peeks up over the edge of the raised porch. “Why don’t you just drink water if you’re so thirsty Auntie Clarke?” the little girl asks innocently in a shrill voice.

“ROBIN WICK WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT EAVESDROPPING?!”

“Sorry mommy!” Robin says, blinking her big green eyes up at her mom and pouting.

All the fight seems to ease away from Raven and she smiles at her daughter. “Go play with the other kids, baby.”

“Okay mommy.”

And with that the little girl skips away.

“Look, maybe you’re just stressed,” Raven suggests, seamlessly turning back to her conversation with Clarke.

“Stressed?”

“Yeah, I mean you obviously want to have a baby, you’re actually kind of desperate if we’re being frank,” Clarke shoots a quick glare to her friend, but Raven just shrugs. “So, you know, maybe you’re jinxing yourself.”

“Huh,” Clarke frowns, taking a seat on the chair next to Raven. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Have you – I mean,” Raven clears her throat and says carefully “Have you _talked_ to Bellamy?”

“No, and I’m not going to, so you and my mom can drop that.”

“Okay, retract the claws,” she rolls her eyes. Then, softly. “Just take it easy,” Raven pats Clarke’s arm. “You and Bellamy are both healthy and fit. It will happen. Meanwhile just enjoy trying,” she winks at her friend, gaining a considerable blush from Clarke. “Children are a blessing, you’ll get yours. I know it – ROBIN!” Raven yells suddenly, her attention now focused on her daughter. “Stop eating dirt! Do you want to die?!”

“Why don’t I take Robin with me for a little while so you can rest?” Clarke offers.

Quick as a lightning, Robin hurls herself towards her, limbs flailing wildly. “YES. Can I go mommy? Please?! Can I mommy?!”

Her excitement is contagious and Clarke inevitably finds herself smiling like a maniac and jumping on the balls of her feet like the little girl beside her.

Raven stares at them flatly, their collective excitement not spilling over to her. “Yes, you may go.  But, don’t you have work?”

Clarke shrugs. “I have a few more house calls to make but that’s it. What do you say little bird?” she asks hugging Robin to her side. “Still wanna come with?”

Robin just lets out an ear-piercing excited screech that nearly deafens Clarke while Raven just smiles fondly. The little girl starts pulling on Clarke’s arm, urging her to go.

“Where’s my kiss?” Raven asks.

Sheepishly, Robin throws her little arms around her mother’s neck and kisses her cheek. Raven’s face smiles blissfully as she hugs her daughter tightly and whispers in her ear to be careful and do as Clarke says. One of her hands gently rubs her stomach at the same time, doubtless alleviating the uncomfortable pressure of her unborn child’s movements inside the womb. Robin places a kiss on top of Raven’s big belly, saying goodbye to her little brother or sister for the short time she’ll be away.

The scene is oddly intimate, a mother and her children together, and Clarke feels awkward and tries to step away and make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. At last, Robin skips away and Clarke waves at Raven promising to bring her daughter back before dinner.

“So what do you wanna do after we finish with my patients?” Clarke asks as they slowly walk together, Robin’s small hand safely clasped in hers. “Do you want to go see Rory?”

“No. Rory is a baby and babies are booooring,” she sighs exaggeratedly. Clarke chuckles. “We’re going to have a baby soon. It’s in mommy’s belly,” she tells Clarke with a straight face. “Daddy says it’s this big,” she holds up her free hand and shows her the space of no more than a couple of inches between her thumb and index finger.

“Really? So small?”

Robin shrugs. “Babies are tiny Auntie Clarke. They can’t play games.”

Laughter bubbles inside Clarke as they make their way across the village. Robin behaves perfectly while Clarke calls on her out patients, her intelligent gaze fixed on the proceedings and taking everything in. She is an exceptionally bright child, though no one expected less from the offspring of Raven Reyes and Kyle Wick. Clarke has it on good authority that instead of lullabies they recited the periodic table to her as a baby and instead of bedtime stories they read engineering manuals, and as a toddler Robin would rather dig around her mother’s toolbox than play with actual age-appropriate toys.

When she wrapped up her last call they were close to Octavia and Lincoln’s cabin so Clarke playfully dared Robin to race there.

The little girl won by far, naturally, since Clarke only made a half-hearted attempt to gain speed. She’s not exactly fond of exercise in general and running is only acceptable in her opinion when one is being chased by grounders and or wild beasts.

By the time they reach the cabin the door bursts open and Lincoln exits holding a grumpy Rory on one arm and a heavy looking, bulky sack on the other.

Relief washes over his face when he sees Clarke. “You’re here. Good. Are you busy?”

“Not at all,” Clarke replies, shaking Rory’s proffered tiny hand in greeting. “What’s up?”

Lincoln glances at Rory and gives Clarke a piercing look. “The ground unit is detained outside the border.”

Dread tickles down Clarke’s spine. She swallows, considering her next words. “Did they have company?”

“Briefly,” he says carefully. “Jackson is expecting me at the gate.”

That’s everything Clarke needs to know. Octavia’s unit was set upon by hostile grounders. They evidently dispatched them but someone sustained a considerable injure to require a medic’s presence on site.

“Bellamy might want to go with you.”

Hearing her uncle’s name Rory lights up and throws her arms happily in the air. “Bellmy!”

Despite the gravity of the situation Clarke chuckles at her candid excitement.

Then all laughter dies inside her, smothering her.

“He was already there,” Lincoln tells her, cautiously.

If before she felt scared, now a cool, paralyzing kind of panic slams into her in crushing waves, starting at the bottom of her stomach, seeping into her bones and clasping her heart painfully.

“He made the call.”

The words reach her through the numbness, sounding faintly over the sudden ringing in her ears. Dark spots dance at the edge of her vision and her lungs burn for air. Clarke vaguely recognizes the signs of an approaching panic attack and firmly reminds herself to breathe and regroup, fighting the nearly overwhelming fear.

Bellamy made the call. That means he’s alive. He’s alive.

Lincoln would tell her if something serious had happened to him. He would’ve found her right away and asked her to accompany him instead of Jackson.

Bellamy is alive.

She repeats it like a mantra, the words strong in the back of her mind even as she gets herself back together and becomes aware of Lincoln’s worried expression and Robin tugging ceaselessly on her sleeve.

“Did you hear Auntie Clarke? I’m bored,” the little girl claims dramatically.

Rory throws her arms in the air again. “Bor!”

Clarke and Lincoln share a smile, his still a little worried while hers is definitely tighter than ought to be.

“What were you going to do with her?” Clarke asks, nodding at Rory.

“Harper sometimes babysits. I was going to see if she could take her until we returned.”

Clarke smiles, forcing her breathing to even out and her muscles to relax. “I can take care of her if you want.”

Lincoln doesn’t give it much thought, just turns around to consider his daughter seriously. “Would you like that goufa? Do you want to go with Aunt Clarke?”

Rory wiggles excitedly, flailing her chubby arms around. She grins from ear to ear and throws her arms towards Clarke.

“That’s a yes,” Lincoln smirks.

He passes Rory to Clarke who holds her with some difficulty until she finds a comfortable position. Robin helps by carrying Rory’s bulky diaper bag.

After they say goodbye to Lincoln and start towards Clarke’s cabin, Rory fixes Clarke with an inquisitive look. “Bellmy?”

A brief surge of panic flares through her but Clarke smothers it instantly. “He’ll be home soon, baby,” she reassures her with more confidence than she dares feel herself.


	10. The Day After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot begin to tell you how much your support means to me! All those nice comments you left last chapter cheered me up and made me realize there are so many GOOD people out there in the world. I love you all and I thank you for being there for me.
> 
> This chapter is un-betaed. Also, Missemarissa asked for cuddling + sex. I could only fill half that prompt at this point in time though, sorry babe! I hope you still like it :-)

Blinding pain shooting across his shoulder rouses Bellamy from his sleep. He shifts gingerly, trying to relieve the pressure on his injury. He must’ve turned on his side while sleeping. Faint morning light filters in through the window shutters, so he can see a few drops of blood gathering at the stitches and smeared on the thin bedding of Clarke’s bed.

Fucking grounders.

The Council had determined a scouting expedition was called for to investigate suspected poaching activity by rogue grounders near the south section of their border. Octavia’s unit is hands-down the best trained and could easily have taken care of the task on their own, but grounder activity wasn’t something the Council took lightly so Bellamy volunteered to accompany her with a small guard detail to appease the Council’s apprehension. Octavia hadn’t been exactly thrilled, but he made it very clear she was the one officially in charge. The precautions turned out to be in order when the poaching turned out to be a ruse to draw them there and they were intercepted by an army of thirty.

Two to one, they still managed to dispatch them with ease. They sustained no casualties, but some were injured, most notably Octavia’s second who broke her leg and a guy who was nearly disemboweled. Bellamy only took an arrow on his shoulder meant for Octavia.

After the fight was over, Bellamy radioed in the incident requesting a medic and settled down to wait for the cavalry to arrive.

It was way past sundown when they got back home and Bellamy was beat. His shoulder throbbed despite the sling Jackson forced on him and all he wanted was to collapse on a bed. He considered detouring to the lake for a quick dip to wash off the sweat and grime of the day, but exhaustion won out and he went straight to Clarke’s cabin instead.

He found it in a state of chaos and Clarke playfully wrestling with Rory before the fireplace. His heart bloomed and spilled onto his chest cavity. It was nice scene to come home to after such a lousy day. _Very_ nice.

They’ve been trying to have a baby for a couple of months now but well, the baby was an abstract concept, if he’s being honest. Having sex with Clarke, being close to her, is something tangible and actually happening so that’s all his brain has been focusing on lately. He wants a baby to come out of it but he hasn’t really pictured it, okay? He knows what taking care of a kid entails, generally speaking. He did raise Octavia and plenty of their friends have had children so yeah, he knows. But to take that knowledge and apply it to him and Clarke and their baby is a completely different thing.

To be honest it kind of freaks him out a little bit. And since Clarke is not pregnant yet, there’s no reason to dwell on it, really.

But then he comes home and sees her tickling Rory, looking frumpy and tired and gorgeous and yeah, he’s picturing it. A messy cabin full of laughter and kids and Clarke. This is what he wants to come home to every night for the rest of his life.

Their faces lit up when they saw him and with a potent squeal Rory ran on her uncoordinated legs towards him. While he hugged his niece closely, Bellamy saw Clarke discreetly wiping her eyes.

He ate warmed leftovers as Rory kept up a steady and adoringly incoherent chatter perched on his knee while Clarke quietly went about putting the cabin back in order. She then left him to wash up privately while she took Rory back to Octavia and Lincoln. Bellamy had been so exhausted after bathing he just slipped into Clarke’s bed without thinking. He’d meant to wait up for her but sleep claimed him before she returned.

Now it’s morning. His body feels rested but for his brain it’s like he blinked and suddenly the night swept away. With a frown, Bellamy notices Clarke’s side of the bed is untouched. He groans as he gets up, holding his arm against his chest to alleviate the pain in his shoulder. After a brief search he finds her curled up on the couch, bundled under a wool blanket from Jasper’s sheep farm and snoring softly.

His first thought is _she looks cute_ , followed immediately by _I’m such a dick_. They never had a conversation where she freely invited him to share her bed. They sleep together during the period of time they have sex every month, but other than that Bellamy keeps to the couch or his own bed in his quarters, but mostly her couch. It’s a good couch so he doesn’t mind.

They’re not having sex right now. She told him earlier today – yesterday? – that she’d gotten her period, which on one hand sucks because there’s no baby yet, and on the other hand it’s awesome because there’s no baby yet so they get to keep trying. But they’re not trying _at the moment_ so he has no business hogging her bed. Which means he’s a giant fucking dick and practically kicked her out of her own bed without meaning to, when she’s likely not feeling well. Clarke always complains about back pain and cramps during this time of the month. The couch is good, but it’s not _that_ good.

She should sleep in her actual bed. She could’ve shaken him awake and kicked him out, or just slept next to him, but she did neither. It’s not like they haven’t _just_ slept together before. He’s trying really hard not be a little hurt or personally offended about her picking the couch over him to be honest.

Clarke probably just felt sorry for him because on his injury which. Yeah. Sounds like Clarke.

Bellamy carries her bridal style to the bedroom ignoring the piercing pain in his shoulder. He gently deposits her on the side of the bed where he’d been sleeping, since it’s already warm and the covers are turned. Clarke stirs and holds on to his arm before he has a chance to step away.

She blinks up at him with drowsy eyes. Bellamy finds himself holding his breath. He planned to head to the couch after he settled her in, but god he wants to _stay_. With her, forever.

“You can,” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep.

Bellamy panics. Shit. Did he actually say that out loud?

Clarke pulls him closer. “I want you to.”

He slides into bed, straddling her to get to the other side of the bed where it’s frigid so she’ll stay in the warm side. She curls flush against him, burying her face close to his stumbling heart.

“Why did you sleep on the couch?”

She tenses up and looks away. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to bother you.”

It’s a cop out if he’s ever heard one. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

Her eyes meet his, startled and wide with shock. After a moment he detects tears pooling in them and panics. Bellamy brushes a stray curl off her face and cuddles her closer. “Hey, no. What’s with the tears?”

Clarke softly touches the contours of his arrow wound. “I was so scared,” she starts shakily. “Lincoln told me you were attacked and I nearly blacked out,” she snorts bitterly at herself, but it turns into a sniffle halfway through and the first tear drops from her eyes and lands on his bare chest. “He said you were fine, that you made the call, so I knew intellectually that were okay. But I still couldn’t shake the fear that you were gone.”

Her face crumbles with a sob. Worse than that, she tries to hide it, tries to turn away from him. She swallows her grief making her shake with the effort of holding it in. In all the time he’s known Clarke, he’s seen her cry like this, gasping and heartbroken, exactly twice: when she saw the Exodos Ship crash and thought her mom was on it, and when Finn died.

The instinct to soothe her is strong in him, like a natural directive. He rolls onto his back, sneaking one arm under her and pulling her closer, folding her into his chest. She resists for a half a second before she crumbles against him, shaking with the force of her silent sobs.

“It was just a scratch. The arrow wasn’t even poisoned,” he says, rubbing calming circles on her back.

If anything, instead of comforting her, his words seem to make her cry harder. It’s baffling enough that she’s in this state because of _him_ , Bellamy has no idea how to make her feel better.

“I’ve been hurt worse before,” the reminder pulls a pained whimper from her and Bellamy wants to kick himself. “But you never – you didn’t react like this,” Bellamy says carefully, threading a hand in her hair. “What’s different this time?”

Her sobs gradually ebb away as he gently combs his fingers through her messy curls, careful not to pull too hard on them. She’s quiet longer than he expected, to the point where Bellamy doesn’t think she’s going to say anything else.

Morning light continues to filter in, making the room brighter but no less cold so he pulls the blankets higher over Clarke’s back and tucks them to their sides, effectively enveloping them in a warm cocoon.

She shifts, tilting her head back far enough for her lips to come in contact with his neck. “Because I – if something serious happened and if you’d died,” Clarke says softly and very lowly, as if afraid to speak that word out loud. “All I kept thinking was, what if he’s gone? What if he’s gone and he doesn’t _know_.”

The ghostly movement of her lips on his neck sends shivers down his back. But then after her little speech she gives him an actual, deliberate kiss there, chaste and shy, inquiring, like she’s trying to tell him something important but she doesn’t think her words are enough.

And maybe she was right, because the words are awesome but the kiss just drives the point home and there’s no realistic way Bellamy can talk himself into thinking he’s misunderstanding what Clarke is trying to tell him here because he’s too chicken-shit to risk everything and _do_ something about it.

“I know,” he whispers at last, with his heart thundering like a freight train and his clammy hands holding her tight.

Clarke lets out the air though her nose and starts, bumping his jaw with her head trying to look at him. “You know?”

“I do. Now,” he clarifies, to be fair. And then, laying his heart on the line, “Do you?”

Another couple of tears fall from the corner of her eyes, but she’s grinning this time so it doesn’t really break Bellamy’s heart.

It makes it soar, instead.

“Yeah. I guess I know.”

“Good.”

They kiss and it tastes like a promise, like joy anew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledging feelings! Progress at last! How did you like it?


	11. The Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry to have kept you guys waiting for so long! I’m currently at the beach and have very limited internet access. On the bright side, I have a lot of time to spare so you’ll be happy to know the chapter after this is half written and I have three (that’s right: three) chapters of Caught in the Fire being edited as of now. I hope to be able to update that fic before the premiere, I know you have waited too long to see what happens next.
> 
> On the meantime, I hope you enjoy this next installment. I haven’t gotten around to reply to all of your comments but I want to say THANK YOU to everyone who did, and left kudos, bookmarked and read. I love you all, it makes me happy to write something you enjoy.
> 
> Warning: there is talk of periods and cramping in this chapter, as well as associated horniness and some touching. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can skip that part ahead. I promise it's not gross at all. If you've read Caught, you'll find it's very similar in taste as what I did there.

Clarke’s foot explores the rough hairiness of Bellamy’s leg. The gentle movement brings her knee teasingly close to his crotch before retreating without actually making contact. She can tell by his tensing muscles and the stirring activity beneath the blanket that it’s having an effect on Bellamy in spite of his tacit resolve not to touch her.

She plans to break that resolve.

What a joyous way to start the day. She went to sleep the night before cold and miserable and woke up this morning to Bellamy and the most welcome revelation that he returns her feelings. She feels liberated, her heart soaring. She gave him the words she’s been carrying in her heart for so long not because she hoped to hear the sentiment repeated by him, but urged by the selfish feeling that if anything where to happen to either one of them, she couldn’t leave this world or let him go without telling him first that she loves him.

To have him say it back, so warily as if terrified of being rejected, was the sweetest gift. Clarke grins, recalling the roundabout way they went about confessing their feelings. In fact, neither one of them has actually said the words ‘I love you’. She wonders who will slip up and say it first.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Bellamy asks, daylight creeping into the room and painting him in coppery tones.

Clarke shrugs, burrowing deeper into his side and inhaling his sharp, masculine scent. “I didn’t think you felt that way about me.”

“I built you a house,” he says dryly. “I’ve been painfully in love with you for ages.”

Clarke blushes. In retrospect, that _could_ be construed as an indicator that he harbored more than friendly feelings for her. “Well, why didn’t _you_ say something?”

He mulls it over silently for a moment. “After Finn and Lexa, I thought you were done with, you know. You never talked about wanting to meet someone or being interested in romance or stuff.”

“Why would I,” Clarke says lowly, trailing a path with her fingers down his stomach to the wiry patch of hair bellow his navel. “When you were already in my heart?”

She plays with the coarse hairs, ruffling them and raking her nails over his skin, going a little lower with each trace.

Bellamy inhales sharply. “You’re making it really hard for me not to make love you right now.”

“Hard indeed,” she mewls appreciatively and wraps her hand around his thick cock.

As always, the size of him provokes heat to pool low in her belly along with a pleasurable hum to spread through her limbs. She shifts, getting closer still and relishing the contact with his bare skin.

Her traitorous body ruins the amorous mood, as expected. She was enjoying such a nice reprieve, Clarke thinks idly, wincing as her lower abdomen contracts painfully. She waits long seconds for the pressure to ease. Even once it does, the pain remains as a dull ache.

“Cramp?” Bellamy guesses, sympathy shinning in his eyes.

Clarke nods. She feels cheated, really. She’s been silently suffering from unrequited love for years, and once they both confess their feelings for each other, they can’t consummate the joyous occasion with a good and thorough fucking because she’s inconveniently on her period. It’s unfair.

Bellamy takes his pillow and gives it to her. Clarke wastes no time in hugging it hard against her tummy and bringing her knees up, effectively curling into a ball. The deep pressure generally helps ease the discomfort of the cramps.

With a kiss on her temple, he leaves the bed and saunters into the main area of the cabin. Clarke sighs, enjoying the sight of his naked ass as he goes.

She hears him puttering around the kitchen, lighting a fire in the hearth and going outside. She dozes lightly in and out of sleep in the warm cocoon of blankets piled over her until he comes back into the room wearing pants and nothing else and carries her bridal style.

There’s a tub half-filled with hot water waiting for her before the hearth.

“I thought it might help,” Bellamy says sheepishly.

Clarke nods gratefully, the sting of tears keeping her from voicing her thanks.

She disappears to the bathroom first to tidy up and remove her menstrual cup. There are some intimacies she’s not prepared to share with him, now or ever.

He helps her into the tub when she returns to his side. Clarke sits down with a sigh of pleasure. The hot water is divine and gradually loosens all the sore muscles in her abdomen and lower back.

Armed with a cake of soap and a washcloth, Bellamy begins to gently wash her. He touches her with care and love and doesn’t shy off any part of her. He spreads his soapy hands over her stomach and then further up, to cover her heavy breasts. He spends an unnecessary amount of time washing her breasts, first torturing the sensitive flesh with the washcloth and then with his plain hands, cupping the heavy globes and flicking her nipples. Clarke’s thighs clamp tightly beneath the water, rubbing to ease the pressure built at her core.

“You know, orgasms are known to help alleviate cramps,” she says, the shake in her voice counteracting her efforts at a conversational tone.

Bellamy raises an eye brow. “Are they?”

Clarke nods emphatically. “Yes. Cramps, headaches, they’re even known to break a fever occasionally. Orgasms are recommended to treat a great deal of medical conditions.”

Bellamy’s soapy hand glides to her pussy while his free arm slides behind her back. Clarke leans into the cradle of his hard chest and shoulder, her eyes half-closed and little whimpers falling from her lips as his deft fingers work her. He parts the swollen folds and rubs her clit in slow circles, stoking her desire.

Heat coils tighter and tighter inside her. Bellamy eases a finger in with exasperating gentleness, stroking carefully and finding a lazy rhythm that has her moaning and arching against his hand. Clarke brushes her lips against his chest right over his steadily beating heart. When his thumb adds pressure to her clit Clarke’s world shatters. Her pussy clenches and convulses around his probing finger. She lets out a cry with the first shock of release, sharp and loud in the silent cabin. Bellamy’s lips find hers and he swallows the rest of her small cries and moans, encouraging her with words of love and firm fingers that continue their work until she’s well spent and panting against his mouth.

* * *

Half an hour later, Bellamy has regrettably dragged himself away from Clarke and is on his way to a Council meeting after walking her to the med bay. They held hands all the way. His still tingled where he’d cradled her smaller, capable hand and her taste lingers on his lips from the chaste kiss she gave them when they parted ways.

He nearly runs over Kane when he turns at a corner, distracted by memories of this morning and paying no attention to where he’s going.

“Bellamy, it’s good to see you!” Kane claps his back affectionately. “How are you feeling?”

Bellamy shrugs with his good shoulder, looking down at his arm trapped in a sling. “Fine.”

“Everyone’s anxious to be debriefed about yesterday’s events,” Kane says as they walk to the Council chamber. “What did you make of it?”

“I think they’re testing our strength and preparedness,” Bellamy replies grimly.

Kane nods pensively. “Peace with the grounders was never something definite. This has been building up for a few years I’m afraid.”

Bellamy agrees, but hates the thought of going to war again. “We will have to reach out to the clans and isolate the conflict.”

“Do you think Clarke is up for it?” Kane asks carefully.

Even though Clarke doesn’t officially hold a seat in the Council, by her own choice, in the grounders’ eyes she is their leader, regardless of their efforts to correct that assumption. The clan leaders will not acknowledge any other than Clarke’s authority and thus insist to deal only with her.

Bellamy scowls at the older man. His question was out of turn in his opinion. Clarke has never let them down in the past when it came to dealing with the grounders, despite her distaste for the task. She chooses not to actively take part of their government on the day-to-day stuff but when the occasion calls for it she unfailingly rises up to the challenge. She has negotiated truces and trade agreements when the clan leaders wouldn’t even speak in the presence of the rest of the Council.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” he retorts confrontationally.

“This won’t be a private meeting with an envoy hoping to secure a trade. This will be a summit of the twelve clan heads and their war chiefs. They don’t care for Clarke Griffin, they will expect _wanheda_.” He stops for a moment, glancing worriedly at Bellamy’s gloomy expression. “And Lexa will be there.”

Bellamy scowls. Clarke detests being considered a legend among the grounders, even if it comes in handy for them occasionally. She always suffers terrible nightmares after meeting with a clan envoy, who always insist to address her by that title and toasting to her accomplishments before proceeding with the meeting. And for the summit meeting she won’t have to merely endure her reputation, but embrace the Commander of Death persona if they hope to dissuade the grounders from going to war again. Lexa being present will just be icing on the cake.

“We’ll be safe through winter,” Kane continues. “They won’t attack, it would be suicide. We should set the meeting after the thawing and send word before the first snow.”

Bellamy nods gravely. They have reached the doors of the Council chamber by now, formerly President Wallace’s office. “What’s in the order of the day?” he muses with a frown. He usually prepares in anticipation for Council meetings, but yesterday was a bit hectic.

“Other than discussing this latest development, we’re revising the Unity Day’s official speech.”

Bellamy inwardly sighs with relief. It will be a relatively short meeting then. He’ll be done in time to collect Clarke from the med bay and have a private lunch with her at the cabin.

They’re greeted by Sinclair when they enter the Council chamber. He hugs Bellamy to express his happiness to find him in good health after yesterday’s attack, taking him by surprise.

“How is Clarke?” he asks through a face-splitting grin. “She was upset by your injury, I imagine.”

At a loss for words, taken back by Sinclair’s strange behavior, Bellamy glances at Kane. “Um. Yeah.”

“Understandable, of course. No doubt she needed your reassurance that you are alright. I’m sure the close brush with death put your friendship into perspective,” Sinclair says giddily.

Bellamy blinks. “What.”

Next to him, Kane shakes his head furiously, glaring at Sinclair.

He glances from one man to the other until understanding dawns on him. “Is this about that damn betting pool?” he grumbles.

“Did I win?” Sinclair asks earnestly.

Kane scowls. “You’re an executor of the betting pool. You _can’t_ participate.”

“I can through a proxy,” the other man shots back.

Bellamy shakes his head and takes his usual seat at the round table, leaving them to their argument. The meeting couldn’t begin soon enough.


	12. The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Climbs from under a rock* Hello everyone! I am SO sorry for taking so long between updates. I've learned the hard way that writing several multi-chapter fics in addition to oneshots is a Bad Idea, so I'm trying to keep a balance between updates and posting new content. I'm so thankful for your support and patience, I really hope you all enjoy this new installment :-)
> 
> Shout-out to my two main baes: [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) AKA beta extraordinaire, and [Marissa!](http://www.missemarissa.tumblr.com) my partner in crime. I don't know what I would do without you two <3

Clarke grins happily as she takes in the celebration around her. A whole day spent partying and everyone is just as merry as they were hours ago when the Council kicked off the Unity Day festival. The open yard adjacent to Mount Weather’s entry door, enclosed by rows of cabins and paved walks, is lined by carnival booths offering games, food and beverages. Long tables were set about surrounding the dancefloor, and the people tired of dancing piled onto them enjoying the food and company. 

It’s such a visceral contrast to the first time Clarke stood here. Back then, she had an army at her back and prepared to wage war to rescue what was left of her friends. Now her people celebrate life and another year of peace and productivity. The place has transformed, as they have.

The weather can’t even stop them. This year they’ve had a persistent drizzle all day, but they’ve celebrated Unity Day under worse conditions. Taking the party to the great hall in the base is always a last resort, but why retreat indoors when celebrating outside at the mercy of the elements honors all their sacrifice and reminds them of how far they’ve come? After spending so many Unity Days locked up in a tin can in space, doing so outdoors, be it warm or cold, it’s a victory for her people. 

At the farthest table, Octavia sits by herself with her daughter Rory cradled in her arms. Clarke orders two cups of hot apple cider from a booth and makes her way towards her.

“Hey,” she greets quietly as she takes the seat next to Octavia. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Octavia smiles, taking the cup Clarke offers her and sipping delicately from it. “Crowds get Rory a little antsy.”

Clarke softly touches Rory’s little bootie-clad foot peeking out from the thick wool blanket wrapped around her. The toddler clutches at her mother’s bosom, whimpering and her eyes droop sleepily.

“She’s grown so much,” she says, awed.

Octavia gives a soft little laugh. “I know. I can hardly keep up with her.” She glances at Clarke. “Lincoln wants to have another.”

“And you?”

A wistful look crosses Octavia’s face. “I was thinking about it. But now we might go to war again…” Her lips press to a thin line and she shrugs. “It can wait.” 

Her faked nonchalance breaks Clarke’s heart a little bit. 

Her eyes find Bellamy easily as they do whenever they’re not together, the magnetic pull between them so strong she can clap eyes on him in a crowd without conscious effort on her part. He’s currently talking to Nathan and Monty and, feeling her gaze trained on him, he glances her way. Their eyes meet and hold and even with so much distance between them Clarke still feels heat bloom within her under the intensity of his eyes and the promise in them. 

“There’s not going to be a war,” Clarke states confidently. Bellamy winks and blows her a kiss before turning his attention back to his friends.

Octavia gives her a piercing stare. “You sure about that?” 

Clarke remains silent, absently swirling the sweet liquid in her cup.

Octavia gently tucks the blanket more securely around her daughter. “Maybe you guys should put a hold on the baby making too. Unless it’s too late for that?” she asks, clearly fishing for information. 

Clarke chuckles and raises her cup to her lips. “That was smooth.”

“But are you pregnant?” Octavia persists sharply, all show of casualness abandoned.

“I don’t think so,” Clarke says after a moment, softly.

“Probably for the best. The grounders have a very specific idea of who you are. A pregnant wanheda?” she scoffs. “They’ll see it as a sign of weakness. We can’t afford that if we’re going to war.”

Brutal, blunt honesty - the Octavia Blake way. Leave it to her to vocalize one of Clarke’s biggest fears, the kind she actively tries  _ not _ to think about. Sometimes Clarke doesn’t know if she loves her or hates her. 

“We’re not going to war.” Clarke downs the rest of her cider and gives Octavia a tight smile. 

They fall into a companionable, if somewhat tense, silence. They glance at each other with twin amused smiles when Robin appears in their line of vision, dancing with Sinclair. He spins her and the little girl throws her head back, laughing stridently. 

“It’s too bad Raven had to go home so soon,” Octavia comments.

Clarke hums in agreement. Raven has just entered her thirty-fifth week of pregnancy and Clarke and her mother have been monitoring her daily. Hers is a mild case of preeclampsia, thankfully, but her disability and chronic pain exacerbate the condition so extra precautions are necessary. The preeclampsia causes oxygen supply to be decreased to every organ in the body, including the placenta, which means the baby is losing out on oxygen, so they need to get the baby out of the womb as soon as possible, but not too early since they don’t have the resources to treat premature babies. Their only viable option is waiting a couple of weeks more until Raven’s baby reaches fetal maturity and hope she naturally goes into early labor or induce itif that doesn’t happen.

Raven’s odds are very promising and she’s in capable hands, but worry for her friend’s well-being is never far from Clarke’s heart.

She picks up a crown of golden curls at the corner of her eye and trains her vision there. She frowns. “I thought Wick had taken Raven home?”

Octavia sits up and looks in the same direction where Wick is sitting at a table with a mixed group, playing some kind of drinking game.

“He came back right after,” Octavia informs her tersely. “Gina is staying with Raven.”

Frowning, Clarke mulls over that tidbit of information. Lincoln joins them before Clarke can speculate anything about their strange behavior though. Rory goes crazy when she sees her father, pouting and reaching her little arms out to him. Octavia hands her over to him with an indulgent smile and Clarke takes the chance to say goodbye and goes to find Bellamy. 

She walks up to him and accepts a drink from Monty’s own special flask of moonshine. Bellamy automatically drapes his arm over her shoulders and Clarke buries her face against his shoulder, shaking with laughter as she catches the tail end of Nathan’s extremely exaggerated retelling of the time the delinquents got high on Jovi nuts. Bellamy smiles down at her, gently rubbing her arm.

He frowns slightly and bows his head down until his lips touch the shell of her ear. “Everything okay?” Clarke nods but he doesn’t look convinced. He glances back in the direction Clarke came from and frowns. “Octavia said something to you?”

Clarke groans internally. “It’s nothing.”

Bellamy takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You sure about that?”

She looks up at him, resting her chin on his chest and hugging his waist. “Can we go home?”

“Of course.” He drops a kiss on the top of her head and after saying goodbye to their friends, they make their way to their cabin, their joined hands swinging lightly between them.

It’s dark and quiet as they navigate through the rows of buildings located this side of the treeline, most of them cabins and group lodgings. Bellamy nods at the guys up on the watchpost and they wave back. Once they cross the treeline and abandon the paved walk, the wilderness surrounds them. The air is moist and cool, their feet pad on pliant ground and heavy drops collected on the leaves fall randomly on them. Their cabin is not too far ahead, the perfect distance from the main camp and the base to afford privacy. Clarke had loved the isolation back when Bellamy brought her back all those years ago and she still does, but for different reasons. Then, it was just an empty place, a means to sequester herself because being around people and their expectations was too painful. It was another form of her self-imposed exile.  Now it’s a home, cozy and intimate and  _ theirs _ .

Bellamy gives her hand a little squeeze. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Clarke worries her lip. “Octavia implied that it would be best if I don’t get pregnant any time soon since the grounders might see it as a sign of weakness, and we can’t afford that if we’re going to war.”

“That’s stupid. We’re not going to war.”

He confidently echoes her words to Octavia. Clarke wonders if his optimism is skin deep like hers. “What if we do? Do you think…? Should we wait?”

Bellamy stops walking and turns to face her fully, his gaze soft and open. “I’m ready to have a family with you. When I think of all the time we’ve lost,” he shakes his head, licks his lips. “I don’t want to wait. Do you?”

It scares her, having a baby when the future is so uncertain. Despite their best efforts, the clans might attack. By controlling Mount Weather they have access to weapons that can cause severe damage to the grounders, but their numbers are staggering. War is not an option, it could destroy everything their people have built. And what she’s building with Bellamy is so precious, the thought of risking it brings her pause. 

The ground has taught her to be wary and cautious. It’s taught her that happiness and safety take work, but they’re worth it. The prospect of war is scary and that fear is making her rethink her desire to start a family, because if she does miraculously get pregnant by then, her child would be at risk and that is not something Clarke thinks she can handle. She would need to be focused and prepared to do what it takes to keep their people safe. She’ll have to become that person she’s put so much distance between for the past six years. Wanheda brings death not life.

But she is not that person anymore. She is not alone. She’s not calling the shots safely removed from the frontlines while others risk everything. She is not isolated and convinced the mantle of leadership is hers to bear by right. She’s learned and she’s changed and she’s better. 

So does she want to wait and allow fear to stop her from grabbing happiness with both hands?

“No,” Clarke replies firmly, shoving all doubts away.

Bellamy cups her jaw and leans down, his eyes soft and loving. “Okay then.”

His lips find hers and Clarke melts, carding her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. He grips her hips and walks her back until she comes in contact with a solid treetrunk.

“Did I tell you this is a very nice dress?” he whispers against her lips, palming her ass and slightly dragging her skirt up.

Clarke smirks. Unity Day being a special occasion, she’d selected a knitted  wool dress to wear. Long sleeved and falling to the top of her knees, the material comes from Jasper’s sheep farm and it drapes over her frame in a lovely way, showcasing her curves in a sedate, feminine way. The scoop neckline highlights her collarbones and a thin braided leather belt marks her waist. “I’ll let Jasper know you appreciate it.”

He chuckles. “You do that.” He brushes his lips along the long column of her neck and bathes her collarbone with open-mouthed kisses.

Clarke parts her legs, widening her stance. Bellamy wastes no time and steps between them, pressing his pelvis hard against hers. Clarke moans as one of his hands grips the back of her thigh and hitches her leg high up. She gets the message and hooks that leg over Bellamy’s hip. Her dress rides up and cool air comes in contact with her sex, poorly protected by her small, thin panties. 

She angles her head back as Bellamy gently locks his lips on the underside of her jaw, nipping and suckling with practiced expertise. Clarke sighs with her whole body. He rocks his hips against her and she feels him even through the layers of clothing. His rigid cock straining inside his cargo pants is unmistakeable as he rocks his hips against her panties, fitting his length over the seam of her pussy and rubbing her clit.

Clarke moans, already insanely turned-on and nibbles on his ear. “Let’s go home. I want you.”

He pulls away from her slightly and shakes his head as he gives her knowing look. 

“Here?” Clarke guesses, unsure. The party is winding down and people will start making their way home soon. The cabins located in this area aren’t as close to one another as they are before the treeline so they don’t have any immediate neighbors, but there are a few within shouting distance. And the guys up on the watchtower have a panoramic view of their perimeter. True, the trees will hide them from above but… “What if someone sees us?”

“No one will come this way unless they hear something suspicious so…” he shrugs, smirking, eyes gleaming with lust and anticipation as his hands grip her hips. “You’ll have to be real quiet.”

An unfamiliar mix of fear and excitement spikes through her, feeding her arousal. Bellamy drops his head to kiss her, a slow, calculated brushing of lips designed to drive her mad. She grinds her hips against his when his strong hands tilt her pelvis in the right angle, their bodies moving in an erotic motion that mimics fucking. Clarke slips her hands inside his jacket, feeling his sides in a long caress as he rocks her against the tree, firm muscles contracting and relaxing rhythmically with the motion. 

She adjusts her hold on him with her leg, hitching it higher on his side and hooking it around his waist, making her leather booted heel dig into his firm ass and urging him closer still. Bellamy tears his mouth from hers, pants as he hotly stares at her, reading into the need coiled inside her and understanding what she craves. Never breaking eye-contact, his hips grind against her pussy hard, making her aware of the rough material of his pants against her bare thighs.

Clarke arches her back, rubbing her breasts and pussy against him where they touch, and laces her fingers behind his neck, bringing him down for a greedy kiss. 

Bellamy’s hold shifts from her hips to palm her ass, bare hands cupping naked skin where her panties don’t cover her, kneading her flesh and squeezing firmly. His movements are a contradiction - a slow rocking that can never be called gentle as he grinds his cock hard against her cunt. By now, her panties are completely soaked through, and Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if she discovers her juices have left their mark on his pants. 

Clarke aches to come. Her head spins and her ears ring from her need of release. Pleasure coils inside her. Feeling him so dauntingly hard, her clit engorged and exposed to the friction provided by her panties and his solid cock, so sensitive to every little movement, her control is close to snapping. 

He adjusts his hold one  more time and Clarke moans loudly.

Bellamy shushes her. “You have to be quiet, remember?” he whispers low in her ear, rocking his hips against her in a long, drawn-out motion that feels just right. “Very quiet baby.”

Clarke buries her face on the curve where his neck and shoulder meet and releases a shuddering sigh as the orgasm hits her full-force. She shakes against him and Bellamy holds perfectly still, keeping the hard ridge of his cock pressed against her cunt at just the perfect spot while she comes against him. She’s unable to comprehend his words as he whispers in her ear, but his voice takes that lovingly encouraging quality it gets when he’s urging her on to come.

He steps away after a moment and Clarke misses his presence sorely. He doesn’t go far, in truth he doesn’t take more than a step away. She vaguely registers as Bellamy fists one side of her panties with both hands and efficiently tears them. Released from one side, the ruined material hangs limply from her right hip, the elastic caught on the curve of her ass. Her pussy is now completely exposed and the wetness there is even more evident as the cool air licks her folds. Her panties, soaked through, give testament to her amazing orgasm, the wet material sticking to her inner thigh and rapidly cooling.

Clarke blinks slowly when Bellamy cups her jaw. They stare at each other for a long second before he kisses her, patiently coaxing her lips to part by licking the seam of her mouth, swallowing her broken sigh and caressing her lips with his.

He pulls away, regrettably, and maneuvers her body turning her around so her back is to him. Shaking, Clarke plants her hands on the rough bark and widens her legs, lifting her ass. Bellamy groans behind her and hikes up her dress until it bunches around her waist. He palms the supple flesh and goosebumps cover her exposed skin.

The sound of his zipper lowering is harsh and loud in the night and Clarke bites her lip, teeming with anticipation. Bellamy grips her hips and steps between her legs. His erect cock finds her pussy by instinct and he thrusts against her a few times without entering, just coating himself in her wetness. The head of his cock bumps her clit with every movement and Clarke has to exercise a lot of control to remain quiet.

He finally fits the tip at her entrance and with a little thrust he pops inside. The bulbous head stretches her as he fucks her with it, withdrawing completely before slipping the tip back in. It’s absolute torture.

“Please,” she whines, dropping her forehead against the rough surface of the tree trunk and tilting her hips up in an effort to force him to go further.

Bellamy chuckles and without further notice, his cock drives deep into her tight depths in one swift motion, her copious wetness aiding its passage. Clarke throws back her head as he pushes his way deeper inside her. His cock stretching her is the most wonderful feeling. He is so impressively large he fills her until Clarke doesn’t think she can take anymore. 

He withdraws slowly, only to slam back in. Clarke grips the tree as he fucks her in a devastatingly steady, firm rhythm.

Bellamy bends his knees and leans closer, resting his forearm against the tree trunk right in front of her face, his chest completely covering her back. Clarke turns her face sideways and buries it at the bend inside his elbow as she bucks her hips back against him.

She whimpers and moans as her muscles tighten in anticipation, her sounds muffled by his guard jacket. Bellamy picks up the pace as he drives into her and his thumb finds her clit, drawing circles over it. Clarke thrashes and cries out in ecstasy, intense pleasure tearing through her. 

She comes hard, sinking her teeth into the inside of his muscled forearm, muffling her screams on the thick material of his jacket. Her sex clenches rhythmically around his pounding shaft. 

“I can't hold it anymore,” Bellamy groans against the side of her neck, his harsh breath fanning the sweaty skin there. “Do you want it Clarke? Do you want me to come inside you?”

Clarke wants to laugh but the orgasm has robbed her of her fine motor skills, so she settles for rolling her eyes internally. Pulling out has to be the least effective contraceptive method. While there’s no sperm present in preejaculate, it can pick up sperm present on the urethra from an earlier ejaculation as it leaves the body. All it takes is one of those little swimmers to get one pregnant. Clarke usually recommends her patients that have had their implants removed and don't wish to get pregnant to use several birth control techniques aside from withdrawal, such as closely tracking their cycles and abstaining from penetrative sex during the fertile days. 

She hasn't looked at her calendar in a while but her period ended more than a week ago and they have had sex periodically since then. And by periodically she means they’ve been fucking each other’s brains out every chance they get. Bellamy pulling out now won't necessarily make a difference one way or another.

But Clarke understands what he’s asking her here, so the answer comes easily to her lips. 

“Do it,” she moans, aftershocks rippling through her as her orgasm subsides. “Please come inside.”

He nuzzles the side of her neck and groans as his cock swells and jerks violently, his cum jetting deep inside her. Clarke swears she can feel it, ridiculous a she knows the notion to be, and clenches her pussy around him, milking him for every drop. He fills her with his cum, grinding his hips against her ass to spill inside as deeply as possible. 

Faint, distant voices reach them and Bellamy starts, jerking his head around to try to gauge the distance between them and the intruders  and the direction they’re coming from. Clarke forces her brain to work and trains her ears on the sounds. It sounds like they just crossed the treeline and going by the shrill giggling and high-pitched, off-key singing, they’re drunk as fuck. 

“Time to go home,” Bellamy whispers.

He regretfully slips out and zips up his pants while Clarke holds onto the tree trunk. Feeling still hasn’t quite returned to her knees and she doesn’t think it will until morning. Bellamy is good to her like that.

He swings her into his arms bridal style and she drops her head against his solid chest, sighing happily. He walks them the short trek home, never straining under her weight. 

“I really love you, you know that?” Bellamy tells her candidly. 

Clarke grins and kisses his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Worth the wait or nah?


	13. The First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating within less than a month. The planets must be aligned or something ;-)
> 
> So, I don’t know if you guys have heard but the bellarke fanfiction awards started and it’s time to vote! I am really happy, I was nominated for several awards along some pretty amazing and talented people. You know I love bellarke, I love these two characters a lot and I write them directly from my heart. My stories could get no comments and no kudos and I would STILL write them because I hold these characters in a very special place in my heart. But having a chance to share all that with you guys, your enthusiasm and support, it’s been an incredibly rewarding experience, one I don’t regret and would never change for ANYTHING. I am so thankful to have you and to have a place here.  
> This fic was nominated as Best Family Fiction in the Tropes section, and I’m also up for awards on the following categories: Best Modern AU Oneshot for ['contrast’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5579197%E2%80%9D>%E2%80%98one%20little%20taste%E2%80%99</a>,%20Best%20Smutty%20Oneshot%20for%20<a%20href=), Best Smutty Drabble for ['chaotic things’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5072635%E2%80%9D>'you%20touch%20me%20\(and%20stars%20make%20love%20to%20the%20universe\)%E2%80%99</a>,%20and%20Most%20Underrated%20Drabble%20for%20<a%20href=) (the outtake from Caught in the Fire, the fic that won the award for Best Smut Fiction last year). Additionally, I’ve been nominated in the categories Best Canon Writer and Best Smut Writer. The other nominees are some of the most talented people I have the pleasure of knowing so I am over the moon to be recognized among them. Voting is open until the 28th and you can do that here.
> 
> I won’t keep you any longer, you probably just want to read the chapter and my long ass AN is irritating you lol. So anyway, as always, the biggest thanks to [ Sarah ](http://www.writingaloveaffair.tumblr.com) for betaing this and reminding me every time that A. she’s a pro, and B. we have a weird telepathic connection and I’d be worried if it didn’t work wonders for us. Also a very special thank you to [Marissa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa/pseuds/MissMarissa) for consulting on this one and lending her medical expertise. She was nominated as well for several awards including Best Smut Author which she deserves like, big time.
> 
> Enjoy!

The front door rattles on its hinges under a rapid knocking. Clarke sits up on the bed, untangling from under Bellamy. He blinks blearily at her.

“What,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“Someone’s at the door.”

He mumbles something incoherent and rolls onto his back as Clarke throws on his shirt and heads for the front door. The knocking has upgraded to pounding. The fog of sleep gradually clears off her brain as worry balls low in her gut. Whoever is there must really need them.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She calls out. She slips the latch off and opens the door a crack, hugging herself to ward off the chill in the night air.

Gina is standing on the porch, disheveled and pale, her face etched with worry. “It’s Raven,” she says before Clarke can ask. “She’s in labor.”

Clarke throws open the door allowing her entrance and sprints to the bedroom to find her clothes. “When did it start?” She asks loudly as she shrugs into her pants.

On the bed, Bellamy sits up and drags a hand over his face to wipe the sleep off.

Gina’s voice filters from the main room.  _ “The contractions started right before she went to bed but they were far between.” _

Clarke frantically tugs on her boots. “Did her water break?” Then, much lower to Bellamy. “Where is my bra?”

He wordlessly picks it up from the corner and hands it to her. She throws him the shirt she was wearing and he too starts getting dressed.

_ “Yeah, right before I came here.” _

“Did Wick take her to the infirmary?”

A moment of hesitant silence. 

_ “Wick is not… he wasn’t home.” _

Bellamy and Clarke share a look. She can see her worry reflected in his eyes. She told him about Octavia’s observation about Wick staying at the Unity Day party after Raven had left early, but when Clarke asked her, Raven denied anything being wrong.

Gina is waiting for them with a foot practically out the front door when they enter the main room. Together they exit the cabin and make their way to Raven’s home.

“Isn’t it too early for Raven to have her baby?” Bellamy asks discreetly while they follow Gina.

Clarke shakes her head. “Not with her condition. The preeclampsia causes oxygen supply to be decreased to the placenta, which means the baby is losing out on oxygen. Cases like hers, it’s safer to get the baby out as soon as they reach fetal maturity. At nearly thirty eight weeks, Raven’s baby is there.”  

Bellamy nods curtly. “Sorry. I know you know what you’re doing,” he releases a shaky breath and Clarke threads her fingers through his.

“You worry, I get that. And I love you for that.” Clarke squeezes his hand, Raven’s cabin already in sight.

Gina looks over her shoulder at them, her eyes, wide with worry silently urging them on.

The rows of cabins, widely spread out, are all dark and silent at this time of the night as they make their way to Raven’s home. They cross paths with Brian who is on patrol and Bellamy and Clarke nod at him, letting him know everything is fine. 

When they finally get there they find Raven reclining in an armchair, her brace off with her left leg limply extended before her. Her hands cup her round belly, face twisted in pain as he breaths through a contraction. 

Clarke rushes to her side. “Hey you,” she smiles, crouching beside her and taking one of her hands in hers. “You think the little one is ready to come out?”

“Sure feels like it,” Raven pants.

Clarke checks her pulse, vaguely registering Bellamy murmuring to his radio in the back. Gina hovers close to Raven, the lines on her face strained with worry. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“They were nine minutes when I left,” Gina suplies helpfully. 

“They aren’t coming any closer but they hurt like a motherfucker since my water broke,” Raven groans, taking deep calming breaths now that the latest contraction has passed.

Clarke nods. “I’m going to take a quick look down there, okay?”

Bellamy steps closer. “I radioed in to medical and told them we’re on our way. Abby wasn’t on call but she’ll be there.” 

“Thank you.”

He squeezes her shoulder. “I’ll wait outside for the rover. Holler when you need me to carry her out.”

Clarke performs a quick check up on Raven while they wait for the rover and Gina gathers her bag. She is four centimeters dilated and her water is indeed broken.

The Mount Weather medical facility is state of the art. Grounders from all around come to them for help when their medicine can’t help them. But for all the resources they have at their disposal, they don’t have the equipment necessary to care for premature babies so unless there is a pressing risk to the mother or baby’s life, they don’t induce labors or perform C-Sections until they’re sure the baby can make it outside of the womb. Raven’s case of preeclampsia is mild, thank god, but they still need to monitor her very closely to ensure a smooth delivery. 

The rover arrives and with Bellamy’s help they load Raven on the back. Gina has to stay back to look after Robin while the little girl sleeps, but she makes them promise they will keep her updated. She hugs Raven before they help her into the back of the rover and watches them drive away from the porch, wringing her hands anxiously.

It’s a very short trip to the entrance of the base and, once there, they find Abby expecting them with a wheelchair. Then a likewise brief elevator ride and they’re stepping into the medical wing.

Bellamy pulls her aside while her mother wheels Raven to a private room. “Do you need me here?” 

“We have it under control,” Clarke says confidently, and they do. 

Bellamy nods. “I’m going to find Wick,” he tells her, face hard and stern. 

Clarke swallows. She’s not sure what happened between Raven and her husband but her gut tells her it’s nothing good. “Be safe.” She tilts her face up and Bellamy kisses her, first on the lips and then on her forehead before parting.

She watches him go for a second before entering the exam room. Raven is on the bed, lying on her right side, scowling and breathing in and out slowly as a contraction passes. Her mother has started an IV with fluids and a pitocin and magnesium sulfate drip to reduce the risk of seizure, a common problem with preeclampsia which they want to avoid at all costs.

“Can you get the spinal block ready?” her mother asks her.

Clarke nods and, after thoroughly washing her hands and snapping on a pair of gloves, gets the necessary medicine and instruments from the drug cabinet.

“The spinal injection will relieve your pain for a few hours,” Abby tells Raven, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a motherly fashion. “We’ll try to hold off the epidural as long as we can, make sure you’re progressively dilating. With your condition, an epidural could cause severe hypotension so I don’t want to take any chances.”

“I understand,” Raven says bravely, breathing slowly. “This one is coming along faster than Robin.”

Abby smiles, tapping on her tablet and noting the time between contractions. “It’s a common occurrence on second pregnancies. Your little one can’t wait to meet you.” 

Raven grins, forehead shiny with sweat. “Same.”

“Are you comfortable like this?” Clarke asks her friend, setting the tray on the bedside table. “After I administer the spinal block you won’t feel any pain on your hip so we can alternate and put you on your left side too.”

“I’m good. I look forward to this part of the labor process almost as much as I do to holding my baby,” she jokes. “Bring on the drugs.”

“That’s the spirit.” Abby meets Clarke’s gaze and at her mother’s nod, Clarke opens the back of Raven’s gown and dabs a sizeable spot over her spine on the small of her back with alcohol.

Abby holds Raven’s hand as Clarke first applies a local anesthetic and then injects the spinal block. It takes no more than five minutes to take effect and Raven sighs with open relief. Labor and delivery are hard on women, but with her disability it is especially torturous for Raven. 

Abby brushes a soft kiss on Raven’s forehead. “Try to get some rest.” 

They have a couple of hours before Raven enters the second stage for labor, so Clarke pulls up a chair close to the bed and settles down to hold her friend’s hand and try to keep her relaxed for the next few hours.

* * *

Bellamy glares at the door before him. It didn’t take long for him to locate Wick. Granted, the night shift guards weren’t expecting they’d have to conduct a spontaneous manhunt in the middle of the night, but they followed their second-in-command orders to pull all the stops and find Kyle Wick immediately.

They diligently reviewed video footage and inquired all the patrolling officers until they found him. And now here Bellamy is, a door standing between him and a man he, until now, has called friend.

The light beside the com-speaker is red meaning the visitor buzz has been disabled from the inside. Clearly whoever is inside these quarters doesn’t want to be disturbed. He pounds on the door, a decisive, closed fisted knock. He waits, and pounds on the door again again. The com-speaker beside the door briefly hums with static before a female voice filters through.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she barks sleepily. “Go away.”

He thumbs the switch and speaks directly to the speaker. “This is Councilor Blake. Open the door  _ now. _ ”

The commotion in the hallway has awoken some of the other residents of that level and they discreetly poke their heads out of their quarters to find out what’s going on. 

Bellamy curses under his breath. The last thing he wants is an audience. “Nothing to see here folks,” he says reassuringly, hoping they get back to sleep and forget he was here in the first place. Most nod and go back into their quarters, but Bellamy can see they left their doors open a crack to listen in. A couple of stubborn neighbors stick around. 

He ignores them as he waits patiently, keenly listening to the dim sounds of activity on the other side of the door. After a minute, the door unlocks and is opened a crack. A dark-haired woman wrapped in a thick robe pokes her head out. “What can I do for you, Councilor?”

Bellamy gives the woman a flat look. “You can inform Wick his wife is about to give birth to his child,” he says lowly, mindful that there are nosey people with their ears perked up in his direction.

He turns to leave but the door is suddenly yanked open. Shirtless and disheveled, Wick trips on his own feet as he steps into the hallway. “Shit, is she okay? The baby?” he asks frantically, loud enough that all the people who were pretending they weren’t listening throw caution away and poke their heads out again, their eyes wide as saucers as they take in the scene.

Bellamy scowls. “No thanks to you,” he snorts before turning his back on him and leaving, the collective eyes of the neighbors following him. “Father of the year,” he murmurs under his breath.

* * *

“Aren’t you gonna ask me? About Kyle?”

Clarke looks up straight to Raven’s dark eyes, her hands momentarily stop massaging her feet. “Not if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Raven swallows. “He’s cheating on me.”

Everything stops for a second and Clarke looks down, exhaling a pained breath. It’s not like she wasn’t bracing for it but it’s still a tough truth to hear. 

“He won’t admit it but I know,” Raven continues softly. “Started after I was diagnosed, when Abby put me on bedrest. He says he’s just been very busy working on projects lately so he sleeps on his workshop sometimes but… I asked Sinclair about it, casually, and he had no idea what I was talking about. Besides -” Raven presses her lips on a tight angry line, breathes sharply through her nose as a contraction rolls through. “It’s not the first time,” she bites out.

Clarke squeezes her ankle softly, groping for words. “Raven I - I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault, I’m the stupid one here. I suspected he was cheating on me after Robin was born, but he said it was all in my head, that I was afraid of the life we could have together so I was trying to find excuses to push him away. And I believed him. I was so stupid.”

“No you’re not,” Clarke says fiercely. “He’s a fucking idiot and a piece of garbage for doing this to you.”

Raven laughs sadly, wiping at the tears rolling down her cheeks with a corner of her bed sheet. Clarke lays down next to her and puts an arm around her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Raven half-shrugs, at a loss. “I was ashamed,” she admits. “I didn’t want you to think badly of him. I thought maybe I was wrong and he was right, that it was all in my head but. I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. Robin  _ saw  _ him Clarke,” her voice breaks and so does Clarke’s heart. “She went to his workshop to surprise him yesterday and came running home after she saw him. Do you have any idea what it was like, having my baby girl crying in my lap because she didn’t understand why her daddy was kissing someone else? She doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that.”

“You don’t.” Clarke shuts her eyes and hugs her friend harder as mute sobs escape her. 

“Say the word and he’s dead.”

Raven is momentarily startled before she relaxes. Clarke pushes herself onto her elbow and looks back over her shoulder to see Bellamy standing under the threshold, a thunderstorm gathered in his eyes.

Clarke moves off the bed and helps Raven turn on her other side. 

“Thanks for offering to avenge my honor,” Raven quips, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But I don’t want to leave my kids orphaned.”

“Can I at least beat the shit out of him?” Bellamy asks, casually stepping into the room.

Raven considers his offer for a moment, her hand rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “How long’s the offer on the table?”

“Long as you need.”

Raven nods slowly. “I’ll let you know.”

Clarke squeezes her hand. “I need to check your progress again. The contractions are coming pretty close together.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Bellamy says.

Raven rolls her eyes. “Come hold my hand, you little shit.”

He chuckles and does as he’s told, helping her roll onto her back per Clarke’s instruction. Clarke fetches a new pair of gloves and carefully examines Raven. 

“Looks like you’re at eight centimeters,” Clarke notes, before announcing with a big grin “We’re on the home stretch! Is your hip bothering you? The baby might be here sooner than it takes to give you an epidural and I would rather you feel the contractions when it’s time to push.”

“I’m good,” Raven assures her.

“Great then -”

Abby enters the room at that precise moment. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, her voice even and controlled with her characteristic tight-lipped expression. Clarke immediately knows something’s up. The facade of unfazed professionalism, a stark contrast to the motherly fashion she’d treated Raven with earlier, rings all sorts of warning bells in her head.  “Wick is here.”

Clarke sighs inwardly. Better that than one of the tests they run to come back with inauspicious results. 

Raven shakes her head. “I don’t want to see him.”

Both Clarke and Abby glance worriedly at the monitor, anticipating signs of distress. Raven’s heart rate ticks up but not terribly so, though one thing is clear to everyone: Wick’s presence in the room would be detrimental to a smooth and stress-free delivery.

“I’ll stay in the hall with him,” Bellamy announces, unprompted. “He won’t get through me.”

Raven thanks him in a small voice that sounds absolutely nothing like her. Bellamy drops a kiss on Clarke’s head before disappearing through the door.

* * *

Little more than an hour has passed when Clarke pushes through the double doors that lead to the hallway outside the medical wing, exhausted but happy. She is treated to the sight of Bellamy, tense with barely controlled rage and glaring at a forlorn looking Wick, who is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and his legs sprawled before him. 

Both men snap to attention at her appearance. Bellamy gets to her side in an instant, crosses the distance in two long strides, his eyes asking a silent question. She nods and lets her lips curl to the barest hint of a smile. He nods and sighs, visibly relieved. Wick on the other hand, scrambles to his feet, nearly falling face first to the floor in his haste to get to her.

“Raven and the baby are both fine,” Clarke says before anyone can ask her. “It’s a girl. Raven’s blood pressure already shows signs of improvement so we expect the preeclampsia will disappear completely within the next few hours.” Then she turns to look at Wick straight in the eye, affecting her voice with her most chilling tone. “You can see them now.”

Wick swallows, eyes bright with tears and voice thick. “Thank you.”

He brushes past her and Clarke sighs with all her body when he’s gone, nearly crumbling. Bellamy is quick to wrap his arms around her offering the support she greatly needs after such a grueling night. 

“Maybe we should go too,” Bellamy says. “Keep an eye on him.”

“My mom promised to stay with her,” Clarke tells him, burying her nose in his chest and breathing him in. “It’s what Raven wants. She needs to face him on her own.”

Bellamy cups Clarke’s cheek and she rests her chin on his solid chest, looking up and meeting his warm gaze as she puts her hand on top of his. She turns her head, kisses his palm, and sighs, tired, but also filled with a sense of bliss.

“You did good here,” Bellamy tells her, brushes a kiss on her forehead before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her into his side as his hand softly caresses her upper arm. “Come on. I’ll walk you home. You need to get some rest.”

She shakes her head, simultaneously burying herself deeper against his warm, solid body. “I want to be around in case Raven needs me. I’ll nap in the on-call room.”

He tilts her chin up with the point of his index finger. Clarke stares up at Bellamy under heavy lids. “I have a better idea,” he tells her.

They navigate the halls of Mount Weather slowly, Clarke half asleep and paying no attention to where they’re going. Activity laced with lethargy starts to fill the hallways of the base as people make their way to the mess hall for an early breakfast.

She doesn’t spend much time in the base, other than at the medical wing and he follow the same straight path in and out. She’s visited Bellamy’s office - and they christened his desk with a dozen of trainees and instructors on the other side of the wall knowing perfectly well what they were doing too - and she’s been to the Council room, but other than that, the mountain base is as much a labyrinth as it was when she was a captive.

When they get to their destination Bellamy has to punch in the code sequence three time before he gets it right and the door unlocks for them. Clarke startles when she realizes he brought her to his old quarters

“I thought you’d already vacated this place,” she asks idly as she steps into the dim room. The light from the the hallway illuminates her path but only just so, casting shadows over the floor and the corners. “You haven’t slept here in months.”

“I haven’t been here in months,” he clarifies with a chuckle. He hits the light switch and white light washes over them. 

Bellamy steps behind her as she inspects his empty desk. A fine layer of dust has collected over the surface and Clarke trails her finger across it, absentmindedly writing their names. She closes her eyes as Bellamy’s lips find the perfect spot on the side of her neck. She tilts her head back, giving him more access.

“This has never been my home,” he whispers against her skin.

“Yeah?” she breathes. “And where’s that?”

He replies without hesitation, his arms firm bands wrapped around her waist. “Wherever you are.”

Her arms automatically rest atop his and Clarke sinks into him, her back supported by his strong chest. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to clear, unequivocal love declarations from his part. She hopes she doesn’t.

“I’ll make the bed with fresh sheets, why don’t you freshen up on the bathroom - uh, wait. The shower doesn't work,” he says abruptly, frowning. “I remember I meant to put in a work order but I was never here anyway so I never got around to it.”

“You prefer the freezing lake and my portable tub, I know,” Clarke grins. 

She can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “A decent shower is the first thing I’m installing after winter passes.”

Clarke tilts her head back and raises a hand to touch his face. She trails the back of her fingers across his faintly stubbled cheek before threading her fingers on his messy curls that the back of his skull. He dips his head and kisses her, slow and sweet. She can tell he is purposefully keeping the kiss from escalating, can feel the strain in his muscles from keeping check of his desire for her.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and then licks the seam of his lips for effect.

Bellamy shivers against her. “Good idea.”

She leaves him in the main room and pads softly in the direction he indicates the bathroom is located. Clarke hasn’t visited any other private quarters with the exception of her mother and Kane’s, which are considerably bigger than Bellamy’s. His quarters consists of only one room, the desk against the wall a ways off the entrance with a couch sitting horizontally facing the door and marking the divide with the sleeping area. Opposite to the living area there’s an enclosed utilitarian kitchenette with a breakfast bar and two stools for eating. Along that same wall there’s a door that leads to a small storage closet and the bathroom.

She stops in her tracks when something catches her eye. Clarke discreetly looks over her shoulder, makes sure Bellamy is busy pulling fresh sheets from a hidden drawer under the bed. Taking advantage of the distraction, she fingers the worn and crackled leather caught in the seam of the door and she silently opens the closet door.

She grins when she sees it. Bellamy’s old jacket. He loved that thing, with its cursed zipper that didn’t work no matter how many times he replaced it. She lovingly traces the long string of metal teeth that runs from the collar, over the shoulder and down the left arm to the cuff. What a silly unnecessary detail, one Bellamy sworn up and down was already part of the jacket when he acquired it those first days on the ground. 

Even when he was given his very own guard jacket, he wore this one in his time off. It was practically glued to him, until his regimentary lake swims caused his shoulder muscles to expand and he started pulling at the seams of the jacket.

Clarke bites her lip and unhooks the jacket from its designated spot, taking it into the bathroom with her.

She steps out of the bathroom minutes later, refreshed and completely naked. Well, almost.

Bellamy has his back to her, hip casually cocked to one side, his hand loosely balled there while he speaks into his radio. His voice, low and gruff, sure, commanding, unadorned, fills the small room and sends goosebumps erupting across Clarke’s flesh. She clears her throat and he glances back at her over his shoulder, doing a double take when his eyes register what she’s wearing.

He turns around, gaping, focused on every inch of her exposed skin. He looks up and down, slowly, his dark eyes tracing a heated path over her bare legs and her exposed belly. Clarke clenches her legs tightly when his eyes linger on the golden curls crowning her sex, feeling her damp folds rub against each other. 

His eyes continue their lazy journey up her body and her belly quivers. She shakes inside the heavy jacket, shivering uncontrollably as he licks his lips, eyes trained on the generous globes of her breasts, heavy and tender, the edge of her areolas barely visible, a mere tease. Her hidden nipples strain against the inside lining of the jacket.

Suddenly static crackles and an indistinguishable voice comes from the radio hanging slack in Bellamy's hand, startling both of them. Clarke nibbles on her bottom lip and shifts her weight from leg to leg while Bellamy shakes his head and raises the radio to his mouth.

“Whatever it is ask Miller. I’m busy.”

_ “Miller’s not on duty.” _

“He is for the next hour. Don’t bother me again.”

_ “But Sir -” _

Bellamy summarily turns off the radio and throws it at the couch where it lands haphazardly. He prowls in her direction as Clarke coyly fingers the non-working zipper of the jacket.

“I thought you were tired,” he rasps, tucking a curl behind her ear once they’re within kissing distance.

Clarke chuckles softly. Doesn’t he know already that she can’t get enough of him, that she’ll always have energy for this? Being with him, joined, together, is a form of bliss in and on it’s own. Everything else disappears and they’re only two people on the world. All that matters. “Never tired for you.”

The right corner of his lips ticks up into his familiar lopsided smirk. “That a challenge?”

Before Clarke can reply with a witty comeback, he lifts her into his arms bridal-style. It’s her preferred mode of transportation as of late so she offers no protest.

But instead of turning to the bed which is where she imagined he would take them, Bellamy steps into the designated kitchen area and ceremoniously deposits her on the breakfast bar. Clarke scrambles for purchase - it’s a very narrow bar after all - and curls her hands on the edges. She vaguely registers that the surface is damp and clean. Bellamy must’ve wiped it down while she was in the bathroom.

“You know I love that jacket,” he tells her, sneaking a hand under it to feel the curve of her waist. 

Clarke nods, tipping her face forward. He meets her kiss seamlessly. “Weren’t you supposed to take it back to the redistribution center?”

He grins against her lips. Under the jacket, he cups both her breasts, massaging gently. Her breasts are ultrasensitive, swollen and more tender than usual, but his revering touch, unsurprisingly, fills her with nothing but pleasure. “I’m never letting go of this jacket.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to grin. “Does that mean I have to take it off?” she asks coyly.

Bellamy shakes his head slowly, eyes deviating to look down her chest as he pushes her breasts up. Clarke moans, similarly lost in the riveting sight of her tits pushed together and framed by the lapels of his old jacket. “The jacket stays on.”

He touches her nose with his and traps her in a deep kiss, devouring her mouth ruthlessly in juxtaposition to the gentle way he handles her breasts, cupping her nipples on his palms and carefully stimulating them. 

“Lay back.”

She looks at him, unsure. The breakfast bar is quite narrow, even if she’s laying along it she fears she’ll topple over. Bellamy meets her silent question and like they’ve communicated wordlessly so many times before, he nods, letting her know it’ll be okay. He  _ has  _ her.

As she lays back, the lapels of the jacket fall open exposing her front. Bellamy gently runs his large hands over the tops of her thighs. Clarke parts  her legs, letting them fall to the sides of the bar and he steps between them. 

He rubs random patterns along the inside of her thighs, each time coming closer to touching her pussy, but never quite. His touch, a contradiction, soothes and stirs her at the same time. His fingers trace the seam of her pussy, slowly opening her.

“Look how wet you are already.”

His heavy thumb dips into her inner cunt to gather her juices before settling above her clit, slowly massaging there as he gradually builds up her need. After what feels like an eternity but it’s probably no more than a couple of minutes, he pushes upwards with his thumb, drawing her clit out of its hood.

“I don’t have much time. My shift technically started twenty minutes ago,” he tells her, his breath fanning directly over her exposed clit. “But I’ll take care of you.”

Clarke nods shakily, holding onto the side of the bar for dear life a his head dips lower and his tongue touches her clit. 

Clarke feels like she’s been touched by a livewire. She thrashes, barely mindful of the very present danger of falling over the side. One of Bellamy’s hands grip her hip, steadying her, as the other keeps her clit exposed to his attentions. He flicks the little nub from one side to the other, languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. 

His tongue glides down her cunt when the stimulation to her clit become too much, and his thumb lets the hood hug the swollen nub. That action alone expedites her orgasm, and when his tongue dives deep into her and the tip of his noise makes contact with the side of her clit, she’s gone.

Bellamy ardently licks her, drinking her juices directly from her well. Then he peppers kisses along the insides of her thighs as she comes down, his lips wet and sticky clinging to her delicate skin. He carries her to the bed afterwards, where the sheets are already turned for her. He sits her down and makes a move to help her remove the jacket but s he stops him, wrapping her hand around his waist. 

“I thought the jacket stayed on?”

He gives her an odd look. “I can attest to the fact that it’s damn uncomfortable to sleep in.”

Clarke smirks. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

Bellamy snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “You’ve been up all night. You need to rest.”

“No,” she drags the world as she kneels up on the bed, pushing his guard jacket off his shoulders in a smooth motion. “I need you to fuck me.”

He shuts his eyes and sighs longsufferingly. He also smiles. “I’m gonna be so late.”

Bellamy begins to shed his clothing in quick, jerky motions, so Clarke just grins and sits back to enjoy the show. “You’re their boss, what are they gonna say?”

“Kane is my boss, actually.”

“Barely.”

He chuckles and gets into bed with her. “This is going to be fast,” he warns her.

“Good. I’m tired I really need a nap,” she replies cheekily.

He quirks an eyebrow in her direction. “Too tired for this?”

Bellamy pulls her onto his lap and she straddles him. Clarke gasps as her cunt settles over his cock, her plump lips trapping the hard length. She moves experimentally and moans as she glides over him, the head of his cock rubbing her clit with every slide.

She digs her fingers in his muscled chest and leans down to breathe against his lips, the scent of her cum clinging to them, before she answers his question. “Never.”

Bellamy tilts his hips and expertly touches the head of his cock to the entrance of her pussy. All it takes it’s for Clarke to rock back and he’s in, spreading her open as she slowly takes more and more of his cock.

She sits up, moaning aloud and savouring the feeling of being impaled on his cock. She lifts herself up then slowly lowers down, grinding against his crotch, before repeating the steps. Bellamy grips her hips and helps her find a rhythm, urging her on while he thrusts up into her. They both grunt and moan as she bounces up and down, riding him hard. 

Her breasts jiggle like crazy and a dull soreness spreads around the area, worsened by the vigorous exercise. In addition, the zipper of the jacket rasps against her nipples, abrading the delicate flesh.

She doesn’t want to stop, her orgasm is so close she can practically taste it. But the soreness only becomes more pronounced and it’s actually distracting.

Bellamy slows down to a stop under her and squeezes her hip. Worry paints his features. “Are you okay?”

Clarke becomes aware of the mighty scowl frozen on her face. It feels like she’s frowning with every facial muscle. 

“It’s PMS. My breasts are just really sensitive,” she explains regretfully. “This position is not working for me.”

Bellamy sits up holding her hips in place so they’re still connected as Clarke wraps her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles at the small of his back. He slides the jacket off her shoulders and it pools over his extended legs before he pushes it aside so he can kneel up and sit back on the back of his legs.

He kisses the tops of her breasts. “Better now?”

Clarke nods wordlessly, her arms firmly around his shoulders.  A soft whimper escapes her lips as she rocks against him, sliding down his cock. Her pussy clenches around him, desperately wanting to keep him.

Bellamy groans hoarsely as he begins thrusting into her, holding his right hand on the nape of her neck while supporting her ass with his left. He stares into her eyes before giving her a long and sensual kiss, thrusting rhythmically into her. Clarke just closes her eyes and returns his kiss, chasing her taste in them, her heart beaming with each brush of lips and thrust.

She whimpers as they push and pull together, embracing him tightly, touching foreheads together as she bounces on his cock. The sparse quarters are now filled with Bellamy’s low groans, Clarke’s gasps and whimpers and the rapid pounding of their groins together.

Clarke tilts her head back, her eyes rolling back into her head. She bucks and cries out as waves of pleasure burst through her body, her pussy wildly clamping down on Bellamy’s thrusting cock. Her arms weaken, muscles twitching and shaking uncontrollably a she holds onto him. But Bellamy grabs her firmly and supports her, as he always has.

She smiles as she feels him come deep into her cunt. He swells and jerks within her, his whole body tense, his arms wrapped around her like steel bands.

Sweat caresses their bodies as they break apart. Bellamy follows her down as they collapse on the mattress on low motion and he kisses her forehead. 

“I think I’m ready to take that nap now,” Clarke tells him, basking in the afterglow and already half asleep.

Bellamy chuckles and pulls his clothes back on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter! Please leave your thoughts!
> 
> **7/23 Edit: Before commenting on it, please read the following chapter for an extended author's note on my decision to present Wick the way I did.**


	14. EXTENDED AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is not a new chapter, obviously. I felt it was wiser to address the comments regarding my “uncalled for plot point” in this forum rather than replying to them directly. I’ll leave this up for a day or so, and then I’ll delete this “chapter” and copy the content into the author’s note for last chapter.

I realize my mistake was not explaining myself in the author’s note yesterday, perhaps this whole mess would’ve been avoided if I had. As it is, I didn’t, and I woke up to some not nice opinions on the matter of my choice to present Wick as a cheater.

The simple truth is, I’m just not comfortable writing Wick or Ravick in a positive light. I know, intellectually, that there’s a difference between the character and the actor. However that doesn’t change the fact that I personally, can’t stand Wick anymore. Steve Talley was revealed to be a member of the KKK after I posted this fic a year ago, and that undoubtedly colored the way I felt about the character. You might think it’s not fair, but that’s how I feel. Wick didn’t even  appear in this fic until last chapter and a brief mention in the one before that, but he had to be preset for the birth of their baby, because that was a relevant plot point. However I couldn’t picture him and Raven being happy and in love, because all I can think about is those BTS pictures where Lindsey looks incredibly uncomfortable around Steve. Again, I know intellectually that real people =/= the characters they play, but I’ve learned that pulling teeth while writing something that doesn’t feel right to you is a mistake. 

I am sorry you ship Ravick. I am sorry if you love Wick. However, I am allowed to change how I feel about a character and to feel uncomfortable writing Raven and Wick in a romantic fashion because I can’t separate him from the actor who plays him. That is a shortcoming from my part, I don’t deny it. I do ask that you respect that. I made a choice in the characterization of a minor character in this fic you may disagree with, and I’m genuinely sorry if I caused anyone unnecessary pain, but I stand by it. 

I hope this hasn’t diminished your enjoyment of this fic. I will of course continue writing it and I’m excited to share this new stage of Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship with you.

**Author's Note:**

> [this way to my trashcan](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com)


End file.
